


A Path That Must Be Taken

by sonicmekhanlock



Series: The Power of Magic [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, BAMF!John, Blood, Bromance, Bullying, Caring Sherlock, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hufflepuff!John, Johnlock Fluff, Kid!Lock, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Never leaving, No Smut, Pining, Potterlock, Quidditch, Sherlock Caring for John, Slytherin!Sherlock, Triggers, True Love, Wedding, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicmekhanlock/pseuds/sonicmekhanlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's POV of A New Beginning, can be read as a stand-alone fanfiction.</p><p>Sherlock never expected that anything as impossible as being able to use magic could change his life as drastically as it did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

White flurries danced in the London night air as Sherlock ran. It felt like a tsunami was rushing towards him from behind, and he ran as fast as he could towards Regent’s Park. All he could feel was a huge sense of panic crushing his brilliant mind in its grasp. _I need to get away, I need to get away!_

 

 

 

His coat flowed behind him as his dark blue scarf hit him in the face and got caught in his curls, but he didn’t care. His surroundings rushed past, and he only came to a stop when he was alone on a path surrounded by oaks and the sounds of the streets muffled. Sherlock bent down to get his breath back, and he straightened and extended his hands in front of him. He stared down at the gloves that covered them, and angrily he pulled one off and extended it again. His right hand was bare among the snowflakes, dark in contrast to the pure white of the soft snow. He took in a breath to compose himself, and then he did what he could only call inexplicable.

 

 

 

As he concentrated, he watched the flurries begin to divert out of their falling pattern and begin to lazily dance through the air above his hand. He made them go to and fro, swirling, causing Sherlock to be endlessly fascinated. It distracted from the events of that evening, but as he let the flurries begin to fall on their own again the memories came back to the foreground of his mind. His hands clenched, and he looked back at the way he had come. He didn’t want to go back to Baker Street since it felt so empty. He sighed and calmed himself, regaining his bearings, and then began the long trudge back home. Sherlock ran his hand through his hair, pulling on the curls slightly in anxiety. He knew Mrs. Hudson would be fidgeting around his flat, waiting for Sherlock to make his appearance.

 

 

 

The streets were empty of passerby so early in the morning, and it helped Sherlock to calm his racing thoughts somewhat. He knew that it was almost impossible to really quiet them completely, the only disadvantage to having such a brilliant mind. His thoughts become trains, rushing off on different tracks and crossing paths every once in awhile, but that night his only thoughts were of the odd powers that he possessed in his hands and of a much darker event. As he stopped in front of the flat, hesitating between going into the empty rooms or to stay outside in the cold fresh air, his shoulders drooped. Just then, as if Mrs. Hudson had been waiting for him, the door to 221b Baker Street opened before him. She stood on the threshold, her face softened in sympathy. He stared at her friendly, open face, and suddenly felt the need for a hug. He ran through the door and into her arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

 

 

 

“Oh, Sherlock…”

 

 

 

“Is she going to come back?”

 

 

 

“I don’t know, Sherlock. She’s getting worse, and they don’t know what’s causing it. All I know is that your mother would never give up without a fight, especially if it means that if she lost she would leave you and Mycroft behind.”

 

 

 

He sighed and let go, and Mrs. Hudson patted his shoulder in understanding as he turned towards the stairs to go up. The fire was still lit in the fireplace, but all he wanted was to go to bed. He trudged to his room and slammed the door and threw himself on the bed. He didn’t fall asleep until the light of dawn was slowly coming through his window.

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

“Sherlock? We’re going to go see Mummy now.”

 

 

 

“Alright.” Sherlock called back to Mycroft from his bedroom. He sat cross-legged on the comforter with books on various poisons scattered all around him. He abandoned them without a second thought, and rose to put on his clothes. Others his age would wear t-shirts and jeans, but Sherlock found that a suit was much more comfortable. He walked out into the flat, where Mycroft was holding out his coat while punching in words onto his phone screen. Sherlock pulled the belstaff onto his shoulders and opened the door, and together they went down the stairs to the black car that was waiting for them.

 

 

 

The brothers stayed silent in their seats, left to each other’s thoughts while Mycroft tapped away. Sherlock was thankful that his brother didn’t say a word; he was already tense and couldn’t bring up the patience to deal with whatever he would say. As they arrived in front of the hospital, they got out and strode towards the doors and through. Immediately, they were hit by the smell of flowers and cheap Christmas decorations, which barely masked the smell of anti-septic and those who were actually sick. The brothers ignored the secretary as they walked past towards the elevators. They maneuvered through the corridors by memory, and they stopped in front of a white door with the number 365 in golden letters.

 

 

 

Mycroft glanced down at Sherlock, then turned the knob and pushed the door open. Sherlock couldn’t help but hesitate, but he understood the necessity of going through that door to see his mother. He bit his lip and stepped through, and his eyes were immediately drawn to the figure on the hospital bed. Her dark brown hair, the same colour as Sherlock’s, hugged her face as she slept, a small smile gracing her pinkish lips. It seemed so out of place in the surrounding bundles of tubes connected to her arms, and as they stepped closer she took in a breath and awoke. Her face stretched and her striking blue-green eyes lit up as she saw them, and Sherlock ran to her side and took her hand, mindful of the IV.

 

 

 

“Oh Sherlock, you’re growing every day, it seems. Mycroft told me you ran out and didn’t come back for hours when I was brought to the hospital… I’m glad you’re okay.” She murmured, her soft voice floating like an angel to his ears. His mind went almost completely silent, the quietest it could ever get, and he relaxed under her touch. “Mycroft, you’re so pale. You need to take care of yourself, love.” Her eyes saddened, and she turned her gaze back to Sherlock as she held out her other hand to Mycroft.

 

 

 

“How much more time do you have to stay?” Sherlock couldn’t help but ask, falling back into the childish habit of repeating that he despised but forgave when it came to Mummy. He didn’t expect any different answer than the one she gave even if hope bloomed and died in his chest as she replied sadly,

 

 

 

“I don’t know, Sherlock. I really don’t know.”

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

Mycroft wasn’t in the flat when Sherlock woke up on an early January morning, and he padded into the kitchen and pulled the fridge door open while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He yawned, screwing his eyes shut as he blindly grabbed for the milk carton. He turned and grabbed a couple of biscuits from the cupboard and headed for the couch, settling on it with a sigh. He ate slowly, thinking about the schoolwork that he would have to do in the coming months. Sherlock found it incredibly tedious, but it had to be done, according to Mycroft. He despised the fact that he listened to Mycroft so often. He was underestimated very frequently by all the teachers throughout his life, and his peers always pushed him apart from the group because of his intelligence and his abnormal behaviour. It used to bother him before, but ever since Redbeard…

 

 

 

He shook himself and flung himself back onto the couch, pulling his robe around him and lying in a fetal position. He didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to _feel._

 

 

 

_Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock._

 

 

 

Mycroft’s words hung in his mind like daggers across many of his memories. He knew Mycroft meant well, but he didn’t _know._ Mycroft had never really seemed to have any friends, especially after Father left Mummy, but Sherlock had wanted, and tried, to have a friend. After the ordeal with Victor, and then soon after losing Redbeard, it just seemed too risky to try anymore.

 

 

 

“Yoohoo! Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson called through the door as she knocked.

 

 

 

“I’m in here.” He answered, turning back around to watch as she walked through the door.

 

 

 

“Guess what day it is?”

 

 

 

Sherlock didn’t have to think very long before he remembered a certain piece of trivial information about his life. “My… 11th Birthday?” He said slowly.

 

 

 

“Yes! I have something very special planned, but you need to get dressed first because we’re going out.”

 

 

 

“What are we doing?” Sherlock answered as he straightened up and stood.

 

 

 

“Well, we’re going to go to the zoo, because I know you love seeing the reptiles, and then I got wind that there’s a crime scene close by to the zoo. If you behave, we can go see it from the sidelines, if you’d like.”

 

 

 

Sherlock’s face brightened considerably at the words “crime scene”, and he immediately ran to his room to get changed. Once dressed, he rushed out to where Mrs. Hudson was standing with one arm hidden behind her. He stared pointedly at that hidden arm until she chuckled and brought it out. In her hand she held a black box, nondescript. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and asked,

 

 

 

“What’s inside? You seem very excited to give it to me, and I believe that it holds a certain value to you that’s different from other kinds of gifts you could’ve possibly gotten me.”

 

 

 

“Oh, Sherlock, you and your deducing. Yes, it does hold a certain value, but it’s such an old thing and I have no need for it anymore and I thought you would like it.”

 

 

 

He took the box from his delicate fingers, and he shook it slightly. Whatever was inside sounded hollow and seemed to be pretty solid. He pulled on the lid and peered inside, and a grin formed on his face at the sight.

 

 

 

“A skull!”

 

 

 

“A skull that my husband had given me as a gift, I guess to assert his power in a way.”

 

 

 

“40 to 50 year old man, of African descent and a slight tendency to eat too many sweets and not brush his teeth… Why?”

 

 

 

“Because, Sherlock, “ She replied, handing him his coat and scarf, which he took. “ I think you needed something positive in your life, such as this gift.”

 

 

 

“Uh… Thanks. I, uh…”

 

 

 

Mrs. Hudson waved her hand around and brushed off, “Holmes boys, always horrible at thanking people. I know you appreciate it, Sherlock; it’s in your eyes. Come on, off we go.”

 

 

 

They descended the 17 stairs, but as they were a bit more than half-way a letter slipped through the bottom of the door. Mrs. Hudson froze, and Sherlock saw that she was shocked and even a bit panicky.

 

 

 

“Mrs. Hudson?”

 

 

 

She rushed down the rest of the stairs and grabbed the letter, shoving it into her coat. Sherlock saw her face flash with guilt, but he couldn’t be sure why.

 

 

 

“Mrs. Hudson, what is that letter for?”

 

 

 

She met his eyes but quickly looked away, opening the door to the street. “It’s nothing, Sherlock. Come on, to the zoo.”

 

 

 

Sherlock frowned in confusion but said no more as he put it out of his mind. A crime scene waited, and he really couldn’t wait to go and try to figure out the crime from the sidelines.

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

It was the end of June, and Sherlock stood in the living room staring at the violin case that Mycroft had given him. It had been a late birthday present, and one that he had shoved off to the side for months before coming to that moment, bored out of his mind looking for something to do. He knew he hadn’t been able to hide his joy, though, at seeing the new instrument, and Mycroft had answered him in kind with a rare small smile. Sherlock knew he cared for him, although both of them had grown up in a hard life and had both taken the habit of seeming unfeeling towards each other, the brotherly love they felt therefore went unmentioned. It was just one of those things they did. But what really touched his heart is the fact that this violin, this certain violin, was the one that had belonged to his great-uncle, who Mummy had always talked about to Sherlock. Even if he would never know him, Sherlock looked up to the man in secret, and the fact that this relic was now his to hold and strum and create musical tones to his heart’s content… Sherlock had almost dared to hug Mycroft, but he had held back. But then, more interesting matters had picked his curiosity, and it only came to that morning in June where he finally felt the need to try it out.

 

 

 

Sherlock pulled the delicate instrument from its cushiony bed, and prepared the bow and the strings to play. He had searched up how to play, and had found some music sheets from his favourite composers online to play. As he stood by the window with the music stand in front of him, he placed the violin under his chin and played one simple, disastrous, note.

 

 

 

“That didn’t sound right,” He muttered to himself, frowning slightly. He returned to the computer to see what he did wrong, and Mrs. Hudson found him on the floor an hour later with his intense eyes glued to the screen intently.

 

 

 

“Sherlock, dear?” There was no answer. “Sherlock, I need to talk to you. Before Mycroft comes home.” Still no answer. “Sherlock!”

 

 

 

“Hmm? What, Mrs. Hudson? Do be quick about it, I’m a bit busy.”

 

 

 

“Alright.” She took in a deep breath and said in a serious tone, “Have you noticed if you’ve been able to do… Unusual things. Things that shouldn’t happen but they do anyway.”

 

 

 

Sherlock raised his eyes, his whole focus suddenly on her. Mrs. Hudson stepped through the door and sat on the couch, patting the space beside her. He rose and joined her.

 

 

 

“… Yes. Yes, I have… How…?”

 

 

 

She pulled out the yellow letter that had gotten through under the door all those months before, and Sherlock glanced down at it and saw that it had his name on it. He raised his eyes questioningly, and she replied,

 

 

 

“I understand that it might be hard to believe, but you can do magic. Yes, I know it shouldn’t be physically possible, but you can. It is inexplicable, and you’re not the only one that can.”

 

 

 

“Magic? Magic doesn’t exist.”

 

 

 

Mrs. Hudson pulled out a short wooden stick from her apron pocket, and held it out for Sherlock to see. It looked like a magic wand straight out from the movies, and didn’t help to convince him. She pressed her lips together, and pointed the stick at his armchair and said, “Wingardium Leviosa.” The armchair rose a few inches off the ground, and Sherlock could only stare in shock at it. It felt like his whole world was turned upside down, since he knew that everything could be explained by science and by simple observation alone, but this… This defied all explanation.

 

 

 

“Magic exists, in a way that isn’t totally accurately portrayed in movies and in books. There are thousands of us, millions even, of wizards and witches all over the world. We live in secret, hidden behind careful spells away from the public eye. It’s one of our most sacred laws that dictate that those who aren’t born with magic, unless related to someone who can do magic, cannot know magic exists.”

 

 

 

Sherlock kept staring at the chair, completely shocked. He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything. It was so unexpected that it took him a few moments to process it. Then, without even being aware of doing it, he raised his hand in front of the both of them and concentrated on pulling a piece of paper closer to him. Without failing, the piece of white paper moved, lifting off the table with a soft _pfft_ and floating to his hand until he could grab it with shaking fingers. Composing himself, he turned to Mrs. Hudson and murmured,

 

 

 

“I’ve been able to do this all my life. I knew it wasn’t normal, but I thought… I thought I was alone.”

 

 

 

“Sherlock, you are most definitely not alone.”

 

 

 

They spent the morning together, Mrs. Hudson making tea for Sherlock with her wand as she explained more about the Wizarding world. Sherlock could only listen, intrigued, more intrigued than anything else he had ever heard about in his life. His mind felt suddenly famished for information, greedily demanding for it as the morning wore on. When it came to the point where Mrs. Hudson didn’t know what else she could explain without doing it justice, she said after a moment of deliberation,

 

 

 

“Okay, I’m bringing you to Diagon Ally.”

 

 

 

They took a cab to a restaurant that Sherlock didn’t understand the name for, too caught up in the information that he had just been given. The whole way there, Sherlock filed it all away in his mind palace. They arrived, and Mrs. Hudson led Sherlock through to the back and tapped the bricks with her wand. Then, as the bricks steadily vanished, Sherlock peered through to the bustling street beyond.

 

 

 

“I just need to go exchange some money at the bank, and I’ll be able to buy you some books for school.”

 

 

 

“School?” He asked as they walked, mindful of those rushing past them all.

 

 

 

“Oh, dear, I forgot to tell you! There’s a wizarding school named Hogwarts, and you’ve been invited to attend. There you would learn how to hone your abilities. That’s what is in the letter.”

 

 

 

“Ah.” He replied. Once they exchanged pounds into galleons, they explored the shops. Sherlock was sure that she had seen them all before countless times, but he didn’t care about it, he just needed to see it all in all its glory. On the cab drive home, Sherlock had a bag of textbooks in his lap and was eager to begin reading them, but Mrs. Hudson reminded him that the cab driver couldn’t know.

 

 

 

“We’re going to have to tell Mycroft.” She said quietly, and Sherlock lifted his head from the book cover to watch her. She was watching the streets go by outside, and Sherlock tilted his head slightly to the side as he answered,

 

 

 

“Yes… We will, won’t we? And Mummy.”

 

 

 

“I’m sure your mother would be fine with it, I just… I don’t know about Mycroft.”

 

 

 

“We can convince him, simple logic usually does.”

 

 

 

“It’s a boarding school, Sherlock.” She said, finally looking at Sherlock. “You won’t be able to see your mother as much.”

 

 

 

Sherlock frowned, and turned away. “That’s true, isn’t it?” He sighed, and sat back in the seat. The rest of the ride was spent in silence, as Sherlock deliberated silently whether he would be all right to go and be away from Mummy for so long. Once the cab reached Baker Street, Sherlock had made his decision partially; he would attend Hogwarts, but he would come home if Mummy needed him. Sherlock smiled slightly at his decision, and as Mrs. Hudson disappeared into her flat Sherlock climbed the stairs to his empty one. He ran to his bedroom and hid the textbooks underneath, lifting the sheet that he kept under there to hide his experiments from Mycroft. Before letting it fall, he smiled sneakily at the textbooks. He stood up once more and descended the stairs, going to see Mrs. Hudson in her flat for biscuits.

 

 

Two hours later, they hear a key jingling in the lock, and Sherlock looks up at Mrs. Hudson. She had explained to him that Mycroft might not accept that he was a wizard, and the idea of having a row with his older brother made him nervous and clench his hands in worry. When it came to rows, Mycroft always won, but this time Mrs. Hudson would be there to help. They walked out to where Mycroft was, having just stepped through the door and closing it softly behind him. He looked up at the two and his face seemed to go colder, more serious. He nodded, knowing that they needed to discuss something important, and together they went upstairs for what was sure to be a difficult conversation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking this version is going to be longer than A New Beginning, considering it is Sherlock's POV and he sees much more, and I also want to write in some scenes that I'm only thinking of now. We shall see though, so enjoy!

The air felt a bit tense to Sherlock, although the two brothers didn’t show any emotion. Mrs. Hudson dittered nervously in the doorway before going through the other to prepare some tea, muttering, “I’m not your housekeeper, but just this once, it’s too important.” Sherlock sat in his leather armchair while Mycroft stayed standing, and they regarded each other silently. Mycroft had had a rough day at work, it seemed ( _wrinkled tie due to adjusting it frequently in nervousness, a small smudge of powdered sugar on the corner of his sleeve cuff left over from an impulse snack_ ), but he still had all his deduction skills in full gear.

 

“So, what has happened? Obviously nothing with Mummy, as Sherlock would display a bit more emotion, so save me some time.”

 

“Well, Mycroft, dear… I’ve been aware of this matter for a long time. See, Sherlock is a bit out of the ordinary…”

 

As Mrs. Hudson spoke, it shocked Sherlock that he was giving her the time of day. After a while, Mycroft settled in the other armchair, listening intently. It took the better part of an hour for her to explain it all, and once she finished Mycroft scrutinized her.

 

“Do you have any proof of this?”

 

“Yes, here’s the letter… Oh, I might as well.” She takes out her wand and flicks it, whispering a few words under her breath and suddenly the various scattered papers and books began flying around the room to settle in neat little piles on the table. When they all began moving, Mycroft sat back with his mouth opened slightly and his eyes wide on awe. When the papers and books stopped fluttering around, Mycroft still didn’t say anything. He sat back in the chair, his arms crossed and his fingers holding the side of his face, staring at the last book that had moved. He shook his head, licked his lips and looked up to gaze at Sherlock, who sat patiently in his own chair.

 

“You want to go to school there.”

 

It wasn’t even a question, Mycroft was just stating a fact. “Yes.”

 

“We’ll have to tell Mummy. You’ll be okay with leaving for so long?”

 

Sherlock nodded his head once, and stood up to go pick up his abandoned violin from where he had placed it that morning. He glanced at the music sheets before him, then looked back at Mycroft, his eyebrow raised.

 

“Mrs. Hudson, you know more about this than I do. I’m sure the British government is aware of magical folk, but I’m not high enough in the ranks to be aware of this.”

 

“Perhaps now they’ll give you a promotion!” Mrs. Hudson said happily, clearly relieved. Sherlock had to admit to himself that he was surprised at Mycroft’s quick acceptance of it all.

 

“Yes, perhaps.” He stood, and walked to Sherlock. He placed his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, and said, “You’re in capable hands. I think you’ll be happier there than you could be at the school you to now. Good night, brother mine.”

 

Mycroft walked off to the stairs and ascended him, going out of sight. Mrs. Hudson smiled widely at Sherlock and wished him good night, and went downstairs. Sherlock was left in the main part of the flat alone to his thoughts, and he felt oddly relieved and emotionally exhausted. He tried playing the violin for a few minutes, but quickly gave up: it seemed his _transport_ was too tired to do anything. He groaned in frustration and put the violin away, and went to change for bed. That night he fell asleep pondering and sifting through all the new information that he had learned that day. It all felt like too much, and he feel prey to exhaustion, too tired to remember his dreams the following morning.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The platform was crowded with people of all ages, and they encroached easily into Sherlock’s personal space as he tried to weave through them all. He kept his eyes stubbornly down in an attempt to calm the rush of information entering his mind, but to no avail. Every second his head hurt more and more, and he became increasingly frustrated. After a few minutes of weaving through the crowd, he appeared in front of a small staircase that led onto the metal transport. He climbed on and stored his trunk in a storage compartment, and he turned to see that the corridors on either side of him were irritatingly full. He sighed, and began to weave through them once more, ignoring anyone who said anything to him. He just wanted to get somewhere quiet, but there weren’t any empty compartments to be found. He peeked into what seemed like the 20th window and saw that it only had one blond haired boy his age. He decided then and there that it was probably the best place he could be, and he barged inside while nodding to himself. He settled down on the bench opposite of the boy, who was watching him with curious stormy grey eyes, and one glance gave Sherlock all he could possibly need to know about him and he turned his own eyes to the crowd beyond the window. After a few minutes, Sherlock turned back to the boy in front of him, who was still watching him. When the boy saw that Sherlock was looking at him, his eyebrows creased slightly ( _nervous_ ).

 

“Um, hello. My name’s John, John Watson. What’s yours?”

 

It was as if time stood still. The running machine in Sherlock’s mind went silent, and it rang in his head as he sat in the sudden peace. His breath rushed out quietly, and he held his breath as the noise in his head began anew, calm and quiet. As he stared at the boy, John, it grew and grew to its full roar as the information around him began to seep in once more. It finally clicked that he was staring and that it probably was making John uncomfortable, but Sherlock couldn’t look away. He was caught off guard by the boy’s voice, soft and filled with what Sherlock could only describe as sunshine.

 

John took out a book from his little carry-on bag, and Sherlock only glimpsed the cover before it was pressed into his lap. John chewed obliviously on his bottom lip as he began to read, and he only looked up once when the train lurched forward and the crowd outside and inside grew louder with the sentimental farewells. The train began its trek through the countryside to the unknown school, and Sherlock finally decided to speak.

 

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” He asked, nodding at the book. John looked up with his bottom lip still held between his teeth, surprised out of the story before him and replied,

 

“What?”

 

“Where does it take place, Afghanistan or Iraq?”

 

Understanding lit up John’s face. “Oh, uh, Afghanistan.” He paused, “It’s quite interesting, actually. It’s about a doctor and his experiences there. My dad says I probably shouldn’t read something so heavy, but I want to be a doctor when I grow up.” Sherlock nodded in understanding, and he was about to turn back to look outside when John posed a question,

 

“So what’s your name?”

 

Sherlock almost didn’t answer, caught in the habit of blowing people off who he deemed irrelevant, but he felt compelled to answer this strange boy who made his mind go silent when he first spoke. “Sherlock Holmes. Tell me, from which part of London are you from?”

 

It surprised John that Sherlock would ask such a question, and Sherlock almost rolled his eyes. It was so obvious.

 

“Wha- How can you possibly know I live in London?” He shook his head incredulously.

 

Sherlock heaved a sigh and explained, “The mud on your shoes is from an eastern part of suburban London. Also, your accent is of London.”

 

“Oh, right. Forgot about that. But how could you tell by the mud?”

 

“Obvious. The colour and texture is different from other parts of London.”

 

“Okay.” John answered, “Well, that’s pretty extraordinary that you can tell that.”

 

His answer shocked Sherlock. He had been expecting John to call him a freak or be annoyed by his deduction, but he seemed fascinated. _Interesting…_ They stayed in silence after that, partly because Sherlock was rubbish at small talk and he also felt it was a waste of time. He wrapped himself up in his coat further, even if it was only the end of summer and it was still pretty warm outside. After awhile, he switched to staring outside at the passing foliage and landscapes. He barely noticed time going by as he turned his attention inwards to his thoughts, and he only spared attention when he had to order some lunch from the old lunch lady ( _early 40s, unmarried, fancies the conductor of the train, lives in Wembley_ ) and when he had to get up to go change into the wizarding uniform. When he had come back and John was back from changing too, he noticed from the corner of his eye that John was trying to find a way to start a conversation. Sherlock was slightly amused by John opening and closing his mouth comically, until finally John figured out what to say.

 

“I didn’t know magic existed until 3 weeks ago. My mummy tells me that there’s a whole society of wizards, and that sometimes people outside of that society can do magic too. Did you know about it at all?”

 

Sherlock turned his head to face him, and he saw John subconsciously straighten up in his bench.

 

“No. They came to talk to us about it around 2 months ago, at the beginning of the summer.”

 

“Ah.” John replied, “Interesting.”

 

Just then the train began to slow down, and John blinked and gazed outside at the darkness surrounding the train. The bustle outside grew progressively louder as people left their seats and began to make their way through the corridor. Sherlock stood up and John followed suit, and they pushed into the throng of students and followed their flow outside onto the platform. Sherlock watched as the students all milled to one side, and through the loud chatter came a booming voice, “All first years to me! All first years over here…” 

 

Sherlock felt odd listening to the big man, who introduced himself as Hagrid. Usually he didn’t pay attention to instructions as he could figure it out on his own very easily, but instead this time he gave him his full attention. It fascinated Sherlock to no end, because all this magic had no rules that obeyed the science that he knew that he could glean from all the research he made. He followed the other students as they made their way down the dirt path in the forest, down to a small lake lined with small wooden boats with a lantern in each.

 

Sherlock saw John climb clumsily into one of them, and he hurriedly got into the same one behind another boy and a girl with dark brown hair tied back in a French braid. She glanced back at Sherlock as he settled in the boat, and piercing blue eyes met his. He recognized intelligence in her that he hadn’t seen very often in others, but it didn’t faze him. As the boats pushed off the shore, Sherlock held the sides of the boat to steady himself. He knew the castle wouldn’t be coming around the corner for a few minutes, so he took this opportunity to observe everyone around him. Most of it wasn’t important, but it helped ground him in his unknown surroundings. After a while his eyes settled on John Watson before him, seeing the back of his blond head and his black cloak hugging his shoulders.

 

The boats shifted their angle of trajectory, and Sherlock raised his eyes as the grand castle came into view. Sherlock’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open on its on accord, and a wave of amazement flashed through him. He hadn’t been able to find a good description of Hogwarts, and the way Mrs. Hudson had explained it hadn’t done it justice. _This… This is unexpected,_ he thought to himself as he got a grip on himself. He looked over at Hagrid for a few seconds, and then heard the girl in front of him, Irene, begin speaking to John. He half-listened, tucking away the knowledge of muggleborns into the back of his mind. As the boats hit the shore and settled, Sherlock held onto the lantern for support as he stepped off onto firm ground.

 

“Hello. It’s all a bit… Boring, isn’t it?” said a low voice to Sherlock’s left. He turned to take in a slightly shorter boy with black hair and dark brown eyes, who underneath his cloak seemed to had dressed in the most formal he could’ve within the parameters of the uniform. _Born into magic, vain, a small tendency for violence… Different._

 

“Boring in which way?” Sherlock asked the boy, in an equally quiet voice. They trailed the students as they walked through the first corridors of Hogwarts.

 

“Well, these _people_ … They aren’t like you and I.”

 

“And what difference is that?”

 

“We’re smart. They’re ordinary, blundering about their meaningless lives. It’s all a bit pedestrian.”

 

Sherlock glanced at the boy, and replied, “Yes, I suppose it is.”

 

“I can forgive you, for what you are.” The boy said, looking sideways at Sherlock as they stopped on some steps. “You’re muggleborn, but I can forgive that. You’re intelligent, so you won’t let your muggle blood stop you.”

 

Sherlock nodded and listened to the woman who appeared at the top of the steps. They were promptly led into a grand dining area that was filled with students seated at 4 long tables and banners hanging from the ceiling. The sheer amount of people unnerved Sherlock, but then again, large groups of people always did. Too much data, just like on the train. They stopped before a couple steps and a long table, at which sat all the teachers. Sherlock looked at each of them in turn, deducing as much as he could about them all. When Professor McGonagall began speaking once more, he listened along with the rest of the crowd. He sighed quietly when he saw how slowly each student was being sorted into their Houses, and was glad when his turn finally came. He climbed the steps and sat on the stool, and he heard a little _swoosh_ around his ears as the oversized hat settled on his head. He felt a pulling in his head, very small and barely noticeable, and immediately the hat began to murmur to itself.

 

“Yes, yes… Brilliant mind, always hungry for more… Your mind is endless, I should put you into Ravenclaw, and yet… No… The hunger, it is passionate and never-ending, but you lack much that would put you in any of the other Houses. Yes, I have made my choice. This boy belongs in SLYTHERIN.”

 

The crowd cheered, but the Slytherin table with its flecks of green on the uniforms made the most noise. He jumped off the stool once the hat was taken off, and sauntered to his table. However, the boy named John caught his attention for a small span of time, and Sherlock wondered why that was. He settled in his seat, and next to him was a Slytherin named Marilyssa. They nodded at each other but didn’t say anything, and Sherlock observed as the rest of his classmates were sorted into their Houses. He grinned each time a sorting confirmed whatever deduction he had made about that person, and wasn’t surprised when the black-haired boy, who he now knew was named Jim Moriarty, was put into Slytherin. As the sorting went on, Sherlock grew tired of his game, and sighed as he leaned his face on the palm of his hand. His interest came back, however, when John was called upon.

 

“Hmm… Interesting…” The hat’s words became murmurs as its words became personal. John seemed terrified, but he put on a brave face. His hand was clenched in a fist but didn’t shake, which struck Sherlock as odd. After a few more seconds, the hat yelled, “HUFFLEPUFF,” and Sherlock felt oddly disappointed. It seemed like he had hoped John would be in the same house as him.

 

When the sorting finally finished, Professor Dumbledore stood and gave a short speech welcoming them all back to school. When it ended, he waved his wand, and a huge feast that seemed to contain every kind of food imaginable appeared before them. As the evening wore on, Moriarty and another Slytherin named Rachel conversed with each other, and occasionally Sherlock would add in a word or two. When it was finally time to be led to the Common Room, Sherlock felt tired from the whirlwind of emotions and events that had occurred that day. It was disconcerting to go from seeing almost no one each day to suddenly have hundreds of students milling around him.

 

He went to bed early, wishing for peace and quiet so that he could begin reading one of the extra textbooks that they had bought at Diagon Ally, once Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock had been sure Mycroft would allow him to attend Hogwarts. He read by moonlight, perched on the windowsill of one of the two windows allowing light into the otherwise completely dark room. It had stone walls, who were covered in green and silver banners and sigils. The beds weren’t completely aligned with each other, three one the side with the windows separating each one, while the other two were against the opposite wall. Sherlock chose the furthest bed in the corner, and had settled all his things painstakingly into the various storage places around his bed. The silken emerald sheets of the bed felt cool to the touch, and it grounded Sherlock in the here and now. When he heard people coming up the steps that led to the corridor for the boy’s dormitory, he rushed off his perch and under the covers, slamming his book on the bedside table. When his head hit the pillow, his heart was pounding, but when he heard the people outside the doorway keep going down the corridor, he calmed down.

 

The exhaustion became too much, however. His transport failed him again, which deeply annoyed Sherlock, but his head turned to other important trains of thought. He gradually fell into slumber, but the only thing on his mind was John Watson. He marveled at the ability that the boy had, which he hadn’t thought anyone would ever have. Even if it had lasted only a few seconds, it had still surprised him. When the last tendrils of consciousness left him, his last thought was of the fact that John Watson had made the chaos of his mind go silent, something that he had thought only Mummy had been able to do. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters will be coming out a bit more slowly than I had hoped (damn physics homework to hell), and also considering I started publishing this story very early in its development. I'll try my best to keep the amount of time in between chapters to be 2-3 days, but I can't promise that...   
> Anyways, your continued interest in this story is what keeps me going, I love pleasing people with what I've written! Enjoy this part, I loved writing it.

Sherlock’s first class was tediously slow. He sat, impatient, as Professor McGonagall explained how to transform a rat into a wine glass. Amused, he watched the others try in turn and none could do it properly, even Moriarty. When it came to his turn, and the rest of the students talking and laughing at each other’s attempts, Professor McGonagall stood in front of him.

 

“You may go ahead.”

 

Sherlock said the spell confidantly, pointing his wand at the rat, and it morphed and wavered for a few seconds into the shape of a wine glass. He began to feel the first signs of triumph when the rat glass began to go clear, but it stubbornly stayed a mostly opaque brownish colour. Sherlock frowned at the glass and looked down at his wand, and the Professor attempted to hide her amusement.

 

“Good, Mr. Holmes. It’s closer than any other students have gotten, but not perfect. You have the rest of the class to try and do it perfectly.”

 

With the challenge of trying to perfect his very first spell, Sherlock became completely not bored for the rest of the class.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Welcome, welcome! Slytherins at the end, and Hufflepuffs towards me, now…” said Professor Sprout over the din of students in the greenhouse. Sherlock and Moriarty moved down towards the end, but were still in the middle. Sherlock looked down at the light brown-haired girl a seat down from him, who grinned impossibly wide at Sherlock. _Fancies me, then._

 

Just then, John walked through the door and saw Sherlock, and his face seemed to light up a little but he quickly controlled himself. He looked around at the available seats, but there was only the one next to Sherlock. He strode over and sat, avoiding Sherlock’s eyes in nervousness, and said to the girl, “Hello, Molly!” Then, the class began.

 

At the end, John seemed tense, which puzzled Sherlock. He tentatively tapped John on his shoulder, and his whole posture sagged in relief. Trying to find something to say, Sherlock asked,

 

“Did you like the class?”

 

John looked down at Sherlock in surprise, who was still seated. “Yeah, I did.” He shrugged. “It’s not my favourite subject but it isn’t terribly boring. Did you like it?”

 

“Hmm, it isn’t very challenging to me. I don’t know, perhaps I could grow to like it- if, if you are in it. You seem fascinating to me.”

 

John’s eyes widened, the area around his eyes crinkling. “Uh, okay then. Odd way of trying to make friends but I’ll accept your offer.”

 

John’s response completely bewildered Sherlock. He wanted a friend, yes, and even if Moriarty was a likely candidate, he felt too dangerous. Everyone else was put off by his intelligence. John, however… _Was I unconsciously trying to become his friend?_

 

“You’ll be friends with me? People rarely become my friends; I seem to scare them away.”

 

John smiled softly, and answered, “Well, I don’t understand why. You seem like a nice enough bloke to me.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

As the fall season wore on and turned into winter, Sherlock received only two letters from Mycroft. One of which said, _Brother mine, we will not be able to see Mummy when you come home. She has asked us to go to Auntie Bella’s instead of seeing her in her current state._ When he read that particular letter, he ripped it in half in a fit of controlled rage. He stood up from being on his bed and began to pace across the room, his teeth clenched in anger. For a while, all he did was pace, but eventually he calmed down enough to make a decision. Sherlock took a new piece of parchment and wrote in clear lettering, _I will not be coming home for the holidays, then. Much more interesting books to read, here, anyway._ Once he stopped writing, he sat back in the chair at his desk and sighed, bowing his head. He was really beginning to believe whole-heartedly in Mycroft’s advice.

 

_Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock._

 

If it meant that his heart could hurt so much, it really wasn’t an advantage to love. He really missed Mummy, though.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sherlock sat alone in the Great Hall, scribbling notes on some parchment and two textbooks open before him. It smelled of cinnamon and pine needles, and the distant faint sounds of ghosts caroling drifted softly in the air around him. When he heard two students yelling, “Merry Christmas!” outside the big doors, he shook his head in annoyance. He never really understood the point of Christmas, and it only reminded him of humiliation at Aunt Bella’s house and of the other times where Mummy had been in the hospital. He only had one memory of a happy Christmas, and Sherlock was grateful that Mummy hadn’t pretended that Santa was real.

 

“Why aren’t you getting ready?”

 

Knocked out of his reverie, he glanced up to see John in front of him with a small confused look on his face. Sherlock panicked a little, and tried to come up with a reason that didn’t say anything about Mummy.

 

“Cause I’m not going home. I hate spending Christmas with my family, if they can even be called my family.” _Not completely a lie, we never really spent more than one Christmas all together._ “My brother Mycroft always humiliates me somehow.”

 

“Alright, then. Well, happy holidays. I’ll send you a letter or two, and maybe next year you could come spend it with my family.”

 

“Maybe, we’ll see.” Sherlock smiled, taken aback by the offer. John grinned in response, and turned, waved back and walked away. Sherlock watched until John had disappeared around the corner, and then he focused his interest back at the textbooks before him. Just then, he saw a girl his age on the other side of the room, seated on a bench facing away from him. It was almost completely silent in the room now that the train was gone and almost everyone had left, and he could hear sniffling from the girl. He almost put it off as another trivial cry over something, but then he read something in her posture that interested him. He stood up and walked over to her.

 

“Why are you crying?” He asked. Her head popped up and she looked around quickly, and saw that they were alone. Her eyes were red and puffed up, as if she had been crying for hours and hours, and her braided light brown hair was all mussed up and uneven.

 

“My rabbit, Bluebell… I think someone took her. I don’t know where she is, and there’s this boy, a 5th year, Quentin, a Gryffindor… He’s been mean to me all the time and he saw Bluebell the other day. I think he may have took her.”

 

Sherlock sat down next to her, his body turned towards her in attention. “She could’ve just run away, why do you think he took her?”

 

The girl took out a ribbon and a small note from her pocket and handed it to Sherlock. He examined the light blue ribbon and read the note, which said:

 

Roses are red, Bluebell is white. If you ever want to see her again, it’s going to take a fight.

 

“Hmm, interesting.”

 

“What?”

 

“I believe I can find her. What’s your name?”

 

“Cassandra.”

 

“Alright, Cassandra. Give me a few hours, and I might be able to find her.”

 

Sherlock stood, and without looking back he ran out of the Hall. He stopped in the corridor and looked both ways, thinking fast. _Where could’ve Quentin taken Bluebell?_ Sherlock pressed his fingers against his face and closed his eyes hard, and thought back to what he had seen this morning. _Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor… AH!_ Knocked out of his thought process, he sprinted down the corridor to his left. He maneuvered the corridors to the Gryffindor Tower and said to the portrait, “Fortuna Major!”

 

“You’re not Gryffindor, young man.”

 

Sherlock sighed, and answered, “Yes, I’m aware of that, but there’s a missing rabbit within that tower and I need to go find it.”

 

“Oh… Very well.” The lady said exasperatedly, and swung open. Sherlock climbed through the door and into the room. The portraits had been talking to each other, but they all went silent as they saw who was in the room.

 

“All right, all of you. Quentin, 5th year Gryffindor, ring a bell?” He yelled up at them. Some of the portraits’ occupants ran and hid. “Well, he took this little girl’s pet rabbit. Which room is his room?”

 

“You’re not Gryffindor! By our honour, we won’t tell you!” cried a knight in shining armor, and his companions all nodded and mumbled agreements.

 

“Oh, for god’s sakes!”

 

“He’s the third room up the left staircase.” Rang a little voice to his right, and he turned to see a pixie flying around in her portrait. The knights groaned in unison, and Sherlock grinned and nodded. He dashed up the staircase and into the proper room, and he looked around, rummaging through all the end tables and chests and growling in frustration. Just then, he saw something that picked his interest: a black cloak hung up on a hook on one of the beds. He rushed to it and examined the whole thing, and smiled when he found a few white tuffs of fur on the sleeves. What he also saw was dirt, and he raised his eyebrow at it.

 

“Interesting…”

 

In his pocket was a small piece of parchment, and he took it out, folded it, and scraped some of the dirt off. Once he had enough, he ran out of the room, down the stairs and out of the Common Room. He only stopped running when he was inside the Slytherin Common Room, where he stopped to get his breath back.

 

“Where you’ve been running off to?” asked a 7th year named Xavier.

 

“I’m on a case.” He answered, and brushed past, ignoring the answering,

 

 “A case?”

 

Sherlock opened the wooden door to his room and peered inside. Seeing that he was alone, he strode over to his bedside table and took out a small kit of tools that he had been slowly collecting. Taking out a magnifying glass and a vial of liquid with a petri dish, he went over to the windowsill and arranged his tools. He would’ve rather a microscope, but this would do. Taking out his dirt sample, he put half of it into the petri dish, and then unstoppered the vial and carefully poured some of the liquid onto the dirt. It fizzled and popped, and Sherlock took out his magnifying glass to look at it.

 

“Ugh, not enough magnification!” he murmured to himself in frustration. He stood back, but then Sherlock thought of a spell that increased the magnification that he had read somewhere. Taking out his wand, he pointed it at the magnifying glass and whispered an incantation, and then put it to his eye and looked at the dirt again.

 

“Aha! Got you!”

 

10 minutes later, Sherlock was just inside the Forbidden Forest looking behind a tree. He reached down and picked up a small, angel white rabbit, and then began the long trudge up the hill back to the Great Hall. Once there, he looked inside and saw that Cassandra was still seated at the table, and he walked over and held out Bluebell to her. She turned her head and her whole face lit up, her eyes going wide and her mouth falling open in glee.

 

“You found her!”

 

“Yes, much easier than I thought, actually.”

 

“Oh, thank you… What’s your name?”

 

He sighed and answered, “Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“Well, thank you, Sherlock. Nice name, by the way.”

 

Sherlock nodded, and returned to where his textbooks were still open untouched. He felt satisfied with having solved a case, but he knew soon he would find himself very bored again.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock stood in one of the many corridors that faced the path from the station, watching the little flurries of snow fall down in the air and making the outside world seem foggy. It was peaceful, the most peaceful it could get for him. He touched the cold glass in front of him, and then drew a smiley face in the fogged up spot in front of his face. He smiled slightly at his creation, but through it he saw the first carriages from the station arriving in the courtyard, lit up by the lamps that helped guide whatever brought them here. He turned around and began to run, down some stairs and through another corridor until he was in front of the big door that would welcome all the students back to Hogwarts from their holidays. He climbed onto the windowsill to see above the teachers and older students waiting around, and looked down at the 2 feet of air above the ground he was. Suddenly the door swung open, revealing the waiting throng of students outside. They all cheered, and rushed inside out of the cold, but Sherlock looked for only one face: John.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock had been looking at the end of the crowd when someone called his name from below, and he looked down to see John smiling up at him.

“Hi up there! I brought you a present!” Sherlock frowned in confusion and got off the high windowsill, dropping down next to John. They began walking with the throng of people towards the Great Hall.

“A present? You… You brought me a present.”

“Well, of course. I didn’t think you would have that much fun of a Christmas here alone at Hogwarts, even if it’s Hogwarts.” John held out a package wrapped in red wrapping paper with Christmas trees all over it. “My mum made too many gingerbread cookies, and I didn’t really know what to get you so I brought some.”

Sherlock was undeniably touched. He took the package carefully in his hands, and looked back up at John. “Thanks… It’s the only present I got.”

“Your brother didn’t send anything? What about your parents?”

“Oh, um.” Sherlock was caught off guard by the question, forgetting that he didn’t really want John to know about Mummy. “Mycroft isn’t the caring type, my Father left when I was little and Mummy’s in the hospital.”

John stopped walking and turned to Sherlock. “Well, uh, I don’t exactly know what to say to that. You couldn’t go home to see your mum?”

Sherlock shook his head and pulled at John’s sleeve to get him to start walking again. “No, she wouldn’t allow us to see her. I guess that means she got worse. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s okay, I can understand why you wouldn’t. I won’t mention it again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s finally summer!” John was grinning, jumping up and down slightly in his spot. Sherlock rolled his eyes and answered,

“It’s just a different time of year, John, it doesn’t really mean much.”

“Party pooper.”

“It’s the truth, though!”

“Just enjoy not having to do any more tedious work, as you call it.”

Sherlock huffed, then nodded in agreement. They stepped onto the train and went to find Molly, whom they had gotten closer to through the months at Hogwarts. Once they were settled, they began reminiscing over the year they spent together, which kind of annoyed Sherlock but he let them be, preferring to delve into his own thoughts and ignoring them. Mummy was out of the hospital for a few days to come and visit Sherlock and Mycroft, but this time the doctors don’t think she’ll be able to stay out for a long while. It frustrated Sherlock to no end that the doctors had no idea what was wrong with her. _Some mysterious disease targeting her whole system and slowly degrading it until at one point she won’t be able to function without life support._ Sherlock cringed at the memory.

As the day wore on into evening, and the train settled in at the station, they left the train and bid each other goodbye. Sherlock walked out into the warm early summer air, trailing his big trunk behind him and his owl cooing softly underneath the cloth covering the cage. He saw the black car waiting for him at the curb, and he strode to it and put his trunk in the back and got into the car. As the city went by outside, a small bubble of anticipation rose in his chest at seeing Mummy outside of the hospital, possibly for more than a day or two, for the first time in… He didn’t know how many years now. When the car finally stopped outside of 221b Baker Street, the anticipation was starting to get a bit overwhelming. He took out his trunk from the back, thanked the driver and turned to the door. He pushed the key in and unlocked it, and went in.

“Sherlock! Oh my, you’ve grown so much!” Mrs. Hudson cried from her doorway in glee. “I’ll help you with Archer, you take your trunk.”

She took the handle for Archer’s cage and picked it up, taking the cloth off and cooing at him softly. Sherlock began the long trudge upstairs with his trunk, and the door was already open when he reached the top.

“Sherlock?” called Mummy, who was sitting in Sherlock’s armchair.

“Hello Mummy.” He smiled, not believing the sight in front of him. He put down his trunk and slowly stepped forward.

“Mrs. Hudson wasn’t joking when she said you grew.”

“I didn’t grow that much!”

That evening was spent with a warm dinner, which Sherlock and Mycroft tolerated for their mother’s sake. Sherlock had to explain to them that he wasn’t allowed to practice magic outside of the school walls until he was 16 years old. The next few days were spent quietly, as Mummy couldn’t leave the flat very much due to needing rest. Sherlock lent her his bed, not minding the fact that he would have to take the couch for the time being. When she had to go back to the hospital, Sherlock felt an overwhelming sense of loss of control, and he desperately wished he could be in control all the time. As the summer wore on, visits to see Mummy and John’s letters made it less tedious of a wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~

When it finally came time to go back to Hogwarts, Sherlock, with the lingering feeling of Mummy’s arms around him, went off to the station for another year at Hogwarts. He was looking forward to being around John again, since he was the only other student that he wasn’t as bored when he was around him. _Except for Moriarty_ , he thought, but he pushed the thought away.

As the familiar sound of the huge throng of students enveloped him, barraging him with all the data, Sherlock became frustrated and just wanted to get onto the train. He put his trunk into the storage, and he turned to find the corridor almost empty as the train began moving. He made a mental note to always arrive a bit late so as to avoid the troublesome crowding of the corridor as he made his way down it. He heard Lestrade laughing, and his heart rose a fraction when he found the right compartment. He stuck his head inside to find it was almost full, with one more space for him, but before he could go in Sally Donovan, Lestrade’s fellow Gryffindor, yelled,

“Move it, freak. There’s no space for a Slytherin in here.”

Sherlock’s mouth fell open slightly in shock, but due to years of people calling him names he recovered quickly. Lestrade groaned but didn’t say anything in his defense, and Sherlock glanced at John to see him staring at Sally in shock and even a little bit of disgust. Sherlock huffed, and spun on his heel and strode down the hallway. He reached the end of it without even realizing how far he had gone, and he glanced at the compartment beside him.

“You seem like you have nowhere to go.” Moriarty’s voice said from within, and Sherlock nodded. He stepped inside the compartment, where Moriarty, Rachel and another Slytherin boy named Connor. He sat down, and was enveloped in one of the most interesting conversations he had ever had. When they arrived at the station, Moriarty suggested that they go into the Forbidden Forest instead, taking a longer path up to the school and exploring and, effectively, breaking the rules. They all agreed, and they began their trek up to Hogwarts.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sherlock!” John called to him. He had just entered the Great Hall late, and as Sherlock turned his head to regard John, frustration rose in him. He schooled his face to reveal nothing.

“Look, I’m sorry Sally said those things. You’re not a freak, you’re just more observant than others.”

Sherlock glowered and answered, “You looked like you were in no hurry to stand up for me.”

“I argued with her afterwards, but you ran off.”

“Well, sorry John,” Sherlock replied in a low angry voice, “but just leave me alone for now. Go be with Sally, since you seem so quick to defend her.”

Sherlock whirled around and walked to the Slytherin table. Moriarty was already sitting there, grinning at Sherlock.

“It’s about time you got rid of him, Sherlock.” He said victoriously. Sherlock turned back to look at John, who seemed lost. As he watched, John turned and ran out of the room, leaving Sherlock, surprisingly, feeling a tiny bit guilty. That night, Sherlock took control of his emotions and buried the guilt, even if he knew that it might rise up again at the most inopportune times.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock sat next to Rachel in the Potions classroom, tapping impatiently on the wooden desk. He just wanted to get this day over with, since he had a small experiment that he needed to check up on in his room. Rachel was doodling different forms of daggers on a piece of parchment, drawing intricate patterns on the blade and ignoring Sherlock’s impatience. Sherlock barely registered the fact that they were sharing the class with the Hufflepuffs until he heard shuffling behind him as two people pulled their chairs up and sat. Rachel glanced around at who was sitting there, and her face morphed into a disgusted sneer.

“Mudblood.”

Sherlock glanced up from where he had been tracing the knots in the wood and at Rachel, then glanced behind him at John and Anderson. Anderson was staring in shock, seemingly insulted.

“Oi, watch what you say.” He began fiercely, “Being muggleborn doesn’t lesson the power of your magic, alright?”

 _She had pointed the insult at John… Mudblood, derogatory insult towards people born outside the Wizarding World but have magic._ Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly in understanding, and he suddenly felt a need to stand up for John. While he was thinking, Rachel had laughed and turned back around.

“Right, Philip Anderson, I presume? You’re family isn’t much better. Isn’t your grandmother muggleborn also?”

“Shut your mouth or you’re gonna get it, ya hear?” Anderson countered, straightening up in his seat. John seemed to be at a loss of what to do.

“Yes, do shut up.” Sherlock added, which drew the attention of all three. “You might be unaware of this but I’m muggleborn too. Maybe before judging others that you don’t know, look closer at those around you.” _Frankly, the fact that she never even noticed that I was muggleborn just proves how much of an idiot she’s being._ Rachel glared at Sherlock, and got up while muttering, “Jim’ll hear about this.” She went and sat with Amed, another Slytherin. Sherlock turned around and looked at John, who was still staring at Rachel. When he finally looked at Sherlock, his stormy grey eyes were filled with gratitude, and it warmed Sherlock’s heart slightly. He smiled a little at John, then turned back as Professor Snape strode into the class.

“Turn to page 478 in your textbooks…”

Later on during the class, as they were moving around gathering potion ingredients, Rachel bumped into Sherlock and whispered,

“Slytherins stick together, but obviously you never got that message. Don’t you have an experiment going on in your room? Aren’t you worried that… something… could happen to it?”

Sherlock only watched her blankly, and once it was obvious he wasn’t going to answer she added, “Freak.”

At the end of class, Sherlock rushed out as fast as he could and sprinted to the Slytherin Common Room, quickly maneuvering in between the students who were milling around inside until he got to his room. When he entered, it was empty of anyone else, but there was disarray around his bed. He strode cautiously to the end of the room and took in the disordered papers and books with pages ripped out thrown haphazardly onto the floor. He checked inside the drawer of his bed to see if the experiment was still there, but it had been taken out. He glanced up at the windowsill and noticed the beakers that had made up his experiment, with all the liquid poured into the middle one and effectively ruining the experiment that had been going on for a week. He stood up and walked to the beakers, picking up an empty one and examining it. He then dropped it down, turned to his bed, lay down on it and didn’t rise up for a long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock wasn’t avoiding Moriarty and Rachel; he just knew where they wouldn’t be at certain times on any given day. He sat in an armchair in a lounge part of the library, fiddling with the corner of a thick leather-covered book about the different species of dragons. The fact that this completely illogical organism could exist still bewildered him, and he couldn’t find enough information on them. At the rate he was going, Sherlock didn’t think he would need to take the Care for Magical Creatures class.

He looked up a while later, and immediately noticed John sitting in a chair at one of the various desks next to the bookshelves. It had been 3 months since the incident with Rachel and his experiment, and they had only shared a couple words here and there since then. As if feeling Sherlock’s gaze on his shoulders, John looked up as well. He raised his eyebrow at the attention, and beckoned Sherlock over. Once he stood next to John, he noticed how many crossed out sentences in the essay that John was currently writing.

“Need some help?” Sherlock asked slowly and cautiously.

John breathed a huge sigh of relief and replied, “I always could use some help. I’m having a harder time with Potions this year, and this essay is just killing me.”

“Alright.” Sherlock pulled up a chair next to John and took some Potions notes out of his bag, and together for 2 hours they worked, laughing occasionally at a joke that one of them would remark without thinking. It felt nice to help John, Sherlock realized, and when the bell rang to signal that supper was about to be served did they both finally snap out of their bubble. Sherlock began organizing his papers to stow them away.

“Well, thanks for the help.” Sherlock looked up at John and nodded. “I really appreciate it, Sherlock.”

“You’re welcome, John.”

“Say, about that offer…” Sherlock paused, refocusing his gaze back on his friend and waiting for him to continue. “You know, the one to stay at my family’s for Christmas. It’s still open, if you want to take it.”

Sherlock’s heart rose in hope, seeming to want to burst out of his chest at the prospect of not going back to Aunt Bella’s for Christmas. _Oh, Aunt Bella’s_ … Sherlock mentally cursed himself and Mycroft, and replied out loud, “Mycroft is dragging me home this year. I can’t accept your offer, although I could probably visit. I live in London, too. On Baker Street, and the flat 221b.”

John nodded in understanding, but not necessarily in recognition at the London street. “That would fun. My mum’s intent on meeting you, she says I apparently talk about you a lot.” _Oh, really, John._

“I guess I would be okay with that.” He answered. Together they walked off to the Great Hall and their respective tables, although Sherlock was a bit reluctant to go away from his friend. _How odd, I have a friend._

That night, as Sherlock was preparing for bed, he reached into his nightstand and took out Mycroft’s most recent letter and read it once more.

_Mummy can’t come out of the hospital again this year, and unfortunately you can’t stay at Hogwarts. Aunt Bella is very intent on getting you to come home for Christmas. I’m sorry Sherlock, I know how hard it is for you to go, and I admit I’m not too fond of the idea of going myself. It will only be for five days, then the rest of Christmas break is free._

_~M_

Sherlock bowed his head, dreading the fact that he had to go home. It was still only a month away, but at least he would be able to see Mummy towards the end of the holidays. He sighed, then resigned himself to the fact that he would be ridiculed relentlessly for five days. He lay back in his bed under the thick emerald green comforter, and curled into a ball and faced the wall, effectively blocking out the rest of the activity in his room. He had difficulty falling asleep, but whenever his racing thoughts would remind him of the time he spent with John that day, he felt a bit less lonely in his situation. At least maybe, just maybe, the person he considered a friend thought of him as a friend too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this is my favourite chapter so far. So much bromance, aaaaah.
> 
> Minor trigger warnings for mentions of addictions, but exceptionally minor. I'm not sure if I should even warn about it but I'll just be safe. Enjoy!
> 
> Also there may be some parts in this chapter that might make a tiiiiny bit more sense if you've read A New Beginning, but there aren't extremely important to the story. Just a few actions here and there can be explained by the other side of the story, but that's just my opinion.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, come down here this INSTANT.”

Sherlock closed his eyes in dread, and pushed himself off the bed. Mycroft looked up from the chessboard and smiled encouragingly, without it reaching his eyes. It had always been funny to Sherlock that whenever it came to Aunt Bella, the brothers would drop the façade of not caring for each other and try to support each other. Sherlock would suffer the brunt of the verbal attacks, but Mycroft was no stranger to them either. He descended the stairs slowly, ducking under the overhanging ledge that blocked his path. He stepped into the kitchen and braced himself.

“Oh, there you are. I told you a half hour ago to come and do the dishes.”

“I had asked if I could finish my chess game with Mycroft first, and you hadn’t replied.”

The woman whirled around, her rimmed glasses flashing and her grey hair falling slightly out of place. The fact that this woman was Mummy’s sister baffled Sherlock to no end.

“And you just assumed I would agree to this?”

“Well…”

“Clean them. Now. The way Violet has raised you two, oh the shame.”

Sherlock began to run the tap to fill up the sink, and turned to her and answered, “If you haven’t noticed, she’s been in and out of hospitals for most of my life. It’s a bit hard to raise a child when she can’t physically be there for you.”

“No matter. That woman she left you two with… Margaret Hewson, is it? She ha-“

“Martha Hudson.”

“-sn’t done much better.”

“Please stop talking, Aunt Bella.”

“Oh my, how rude of you! You can’t tell people to stop talking, William, it isn’t polite.”

“It’s Sherlock.”

Aunt Bella laughed menacingly, without humour. “Your name is William, it is your first name. I don’t even understand why you want to keep calling yourself _Sherlock_ , it’s not normal, really…”

The berating continued all the while Sherlock cleaned the dishes. Halfway through her tirade Mycroft came downstairs to help dry off the dishes, and with one look from Sherlock he knew that he all Sherlock wanted was to be left alone. The brothers didn’t utter another word until they had finished the dishes and had left the room, retreating back upstairs.

“You all right, brother mine?” Mycroft asked quietly, tapping Sherlock’s shoulder in support.

“Yeah, fine. It’s not like any of it is new, right?” He answered unconvincingly.

“I’m 19 now, for God’s sakes. I feel helpless that I can’t even keep you away from here.”

“We’re doing it for Mummy, Mycroft. There’s really nothing we wouldn’t do for her in her state.”

Mycroft nodded, and they sat back down and continued their chess game. After awhile, Mycroft looked back up at Sherlock and said in an unusually soft voice,

“Sherlock… Did I ever tell you why Dad left Mummy?”

Sherlock glanced up in surprise, taken off guard by the sudden unexpected question. “No, you haven’t”

“Well, he left because it was necessary.”

Sherlock frowned and moved one of his pawns. “Necessary?”

“He had joined the army.”

“Oh.”

For a while Mycroft didn’t continue. Right before Sherlock was about to announce checkmate, he began speaking once more.

“He didn’t want to leave her, Sherlock, but he had to. It was a post in Afghanistan, and one that he wouldn’t be coming back from, one that the government told him that he needed to take. One that Mummy couldn’t follow him to. He never explained to me why it was such a drastic post, but he said that he had a specific skill set that was needed there.”

Sherlock had all but abandoned the game in front of him, and was instead watching Mycroft speak. He had seen pictures of Father, and Mycroft, in his early adulthood, looked so much like him.

“He wasn’t allowed to keep in contact with us, Sherlock. For all we know, he could still be there, or he may have died long ago, left to turn to dust in the sandy dunes of the Middle East.”

“Oh.”

“When Mummy began to get really sick, she rented 221b for us and tasked Mrs. Hudson with taking care of us. Dad left all his family’s money to us, and it will tide us over for a very long time. Sometimes I wonder why she rented a flat with only two bedrooms, but then I wondered, what if she knew she wasn’t going to get much better?”

“Mycroft…”

“No, but what if? What if she knew she wasn’t going to get better, or maybe she just didn’t really see much point in staying without Dad.”

“She has us, Mycroft. She cares too much about us to believe something like that.”

“I don’t know, Sherlock. I don’t know…”

Mycroft’s voice cracked slightly, and Sherlock sat back in shock. He then reached out and covered his brother’s hands, which were perched under his chin and clasped together. They sat like that for a long time, until Aunt Bella yelled at them that dinner was ready. Then, together and united as brothers-in-arms like they aren’t usually, they descended the stairs into the hell that they both felt they couldn’t possibly deserve.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Stupid snow.” Sherlock muttered to himself, trudging through the snow as fast as he could so that he wouldn’t get caught. In his pocket was a small map that he had ripped out of a book he had found, on which was inscribed a map of the edge of the Forbidden Forest. There was a small clearing about 150 meters inside that was labeled with many potion ingredients that Sherlock needed for an experiment, so now he found himself pushing through the unusual amount of snow. He was skipping Herbology, but he reassured himself with the reasoning that technically he was going out to get some plants anyway.

Once inside the cover of the forest, the amount of snow dropped significantly, much to his relief. He began walking towards the general direction of the clearing, moving impatiently. He needed to time his return to into the school perfectly, in order to not raise any more suspicion that will arise from skipping class. He found it all tedious, but necessary. If he were stuck in detention, there’s no telling how many future experiments could get ruined by unexpected hold-ups, therefore he needed to go the extra mile to make sure he never ended up in there.

Once Sherlock had gathered all he needed and stored it in a hidden pouch under his cloak, he checked his watch to see what time it was. He gritted his teeth in realization that he was behind, and closed his eyes as his heart sank. _Well, so much for getting back in time._

After climbing up the hill and staying in the shadows to avoid being seen, and managed to enter the school without any witnesses. He ran as quietly as he could through the corridors to the Slytherin Common Room, and once he hid the herbs away he flung himself onto his bed and sighed in relief. _Went much better than you thought it would, huh, Sherlock?_

That evening, Sherlock sat a bit away from the rest of the Slytherins, per his usual habit. It had become a sort of understanding that if the others left him alone, he would leave them alone, and that was how he liked it once he had learned a bit about everyone. As he was about to get up to go to the library, he glanced up around him and saw Professor Snape staring at him. He beckoned Sherlock over, and Sherlock began to feel a bit anxious.

“Mr. Holmes…” Snape drawled in his usual voice, “You failed to attend Herbology class today. Is a detention in order?”

“No, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“I cannot allow this to go unpunished.”

Sherlock groaned in frustration. “Understood.”

“In the spring, you will accompany Hagrid for an afternoon on your own time, and help him with whatever he needs doing.”

Sherlock mentally kicked himself, “Is a detention still an option?”

Snape’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and his posture seemed to slacken as a result. “I believe we can make that arrangement.”

Sherlock nodded, and Snape dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Sherlock turned and made his way out of the Great Hall, feeling slightly defeated at his abilities to make sure that his plans worked perfectly. He made a mental note to calculate for a higher error rate than he had allowed before, and put it out of his mind for the time being.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oi, freak, why’re you around John all the time? He needs to work!” Sally yelled at Sherlock from the top of the hill. John and Sherlock sat in the shade of one of the many trees on the newly dried grass. She was marching quite comically towards him, and Sherlock had to stiffen an urge to laugh.

Instead he answered, “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been helping him work, unlike you.” He glanced down at her knees, which were worn and newly covered in dirt and about to rip. “I see you’ve been climbing some trees, which Professor Sprout said not to do. You really shouldn’t wear your uniform when you do that, it ruins your knees.”

“Incredible!” Came a quiet murmur from beside him, and Sherlock glanced back at John, who was trying not to smile and keeping his head firmly down.

“Oh, hello Anderson. I see you accompanied Sally in climbing the trees.” Sherlock looked again at John, and saw him staring at Sherlock. He turned back to look at the approaching figures.

“Be quiet, Sherlock. I heard you’ve been causing trouble with Moriarty last week and got a detention for it. You’re no better than us.”

Sherlock thought back to the week before, and remembered the fact that he had been unfortunately caught with Moriarty in the Forbidden Section of the library, again. Sherlock rolled his eyes at them, and kept reading from the textbook laid open in his lap. The two of them spoke with John for a while, and he paid them no attention except whenever they would point a few insults towards him. He slunk away in his head, away from the constant belittlement that reminded him a bit of Aunt Bella’s, and was relieved whenever they finally walked away.

“Hey, look what I can do!” John said suddenly, and Sherlock glanced up at his friend to see him balancing his wand on the tip of his nose. John’s face contorted in an effort to keep it there, and Sherlock couldn’t help but giggle madly at the sight.

“You look absolutely ridiculous, John.”

In a sudden moment of madness, Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out his own wand, trying to balance it on his nose too. After the 5th try and ultimately failing, John was lying back on the ground and holding his sides from laughing so hard. Sherlock was laughing too, and it felt very good to just let the humiliation go and to just act like a normal child, all-be-it for only a little while.

~~~~~~~~~~~

As the ground finally dried up for good and the sky took on a special shade of light blue that can only be seen in the spring, Sherlock became very comfortable at Hogwarts. He stayed around John, Lestrade and Molly, which he found a bit odd considering he usually craved being around people who could keep up with his intelligence. He had to admit to himself, though, that Moriarty put him off and unnerved him slightly. However, when Moriarty came by to talk to him while he was outside again, helping John with his work, he couldn’t resist his curiosity. Moriarty had ignored him every time they encountered each other, most often in their shared dorm room, and when he purposefully sought out Sherlock he couldn’t help but listen.

“Sherlock, I must speak with you.”

“Uh, okay… John?”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” Sherlock stood up and strode over to Moriarty, skeptical.

“What do you want?”

“My, my, aren’t we a bit touchy.”

“I wonder why.”

Moriarty just shook his head at the sarcastic tone, and replied, “I have a proposition.”

They began walking away unconsciously, and Sherlock called back to John, “I need to leave, I’ll see you later.” He turned back to Moriarty, “I’m listening.”

“Well, Sherlock, I understand that you are always seeking more ingredients for your experiments.” Sherlock didn’t need to answer, his silence answered for himself. “I can get you some, any kind you need, if you would do me a favour.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and regarded Moriarty, trying to deduce any hidden motive behind it. Moriarty just laughed. “There is, of course, a risk. It involves keeping watch for a couple of us from our group in the Forbidden Forest, if you would be willing. If you do, my father can send me anything you need.”

They were almost in the Slytherin Common Room, and Moriarty sauntered until they were right in front of the hidden door. He gestured for Sherlock to stay quiet, and they entered. Moriarty led him to a far, almost isolated corner of the room, where Rachel, Connor, and another girl named Piper stood huddled around a small map. When they noticed the two boys approaching, they immediately went silent and stared, Rachel regarding Sherlock darkly.

“Why’s the mudblood here?” She asked in a ferocious whisper, poking him hard in the chest, which surprisingly stung.

“Because, unlike all of you, he has the same level of intelligence as I do. His tainted blood can be ignored for the time being.”

“Don’t you hang out with that other mudblood, John Watson? That Hufflepuff?” Connor chimed in.

“We all like having our little pets, don’t we, Sherlock?”

Sherlock frowned, and the others laughed heartily. They spent the most part of the afternoon, planning and planning. The next night, they went out into the Forbidden Forest, careful of any suspicious shadows, and reached a different clearing than the one Sherlock had found. He stood guard, while behind them the four practiced Defense Against the Dark Arts spells that they would never learn in their classes. Sherlock knew that like an addiction, it would eventually lead to harder, more dangerous spells. He dreaded the day when they would start to practice the three most dangerous of them all, and it filled his heart with lead. However, he needed the ingredients to create some potions to use for experiments, and accepted it for the time being.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sherlock! Wait up!”

He turned around and saw Piper running towards him, her flame red hair bouncing up and down with her movements. She caught up to him, and gazed up at the taller boy with light green eyes.

“I know you don’t exactly like seeing us do those spells.” She whispered to him, taking his sleeve and pulling him towards the edge of the corridor. “You know you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

He looked at her in shock, and the slight mystery around his fellow Slytherin fell away. _Piper craves the danger that Moriarty provides, but still has morals that they others have obviously thrown away._

“I need those ingredients.”

“Yes, but if you believe what we’re doing is wrong, you can always say no.”

Sherlock shook his head and answered, “ I’ll stop once I believe that I really shouldn’t be doing it anymore.”

Piper smiled, and murmured, “Good,” then louder, “At least I’m not the only sane one in the group.”

Sherlock grinned and said, “I’m sane?”

“It’s going to get worse, these spells. Obviously you know that. Moriarty knows that, but he doesn’t care, and the others will follow him in his footsteps.”

“Do you think one day you’ll say no?”

“Mhmm.” She said in affirmation.

“Then, maybe we could do it together. Moriarty will become dangerous, and there’s strength in numbers.”

“Okay, deal.”

The rest of the year was spent that way, the group of 5 meeting every couple nights to make their trek into the forest to do their forbidden activities, but Sherlock and Piper speaking often about whether they’ve passed their boundaries yet. Sherlock began to spend less and less time with John, not exactly realizing that he was. They spent some of their time studying for exams, which were rapidly coming up. Once those were over with, and they were on the train going home, Sherlock planned to spend the rest of the time that he could with John, Lestrade and Molly.

“My name’s Greg, you know.”

“I’m going to call you Lestrade, much more… convenient.”

“Greg!”

“Lestrade!”

“Bloody hell, Sherlock!” Lestrade yelled in frustration, throwing his hands into the air.

Sherlock burst out laughing, which caught the others by surprise. He hadn’t laughed much of late, and this was the hardest they had seen him laugh in a very, very long time. Just then, a knock came at the door, and the whole group turned to see Moriarty standing in the doorway.

“Sherlock, I have things to discuss with you.”

Sherlock glanced at John, frowning slightly. He didn’t want to leave, but he still hadn’t gotten his last package of ingredients. He stood and joined Moriarty reluctantly, and turned to his friends and said,

“I’ll be back very soon.”

His eyes flashed quickly to John, and he just barely glimpsed a flash of jealousy go over his face. Sherlock then accompanied Moriarty to their usual compartment, and got sucked into their conversation. Before he knew it, the train was slowing down and the sky dark outside, and the hours had passed.

_John!_

Sherlock jumped up, saying a hasty goodbye to the group of Slytherins and nodding especially to Piper, and then ran off to grab his things. When he got out of the station, he saw Molly and Lestrade standing together near the entrance.

“Did John already leave?” He demanded at them when he got closer.

They looked up at him and Molly answered, “No, he’s already gone. Sorry Sherlock.”

“Right, see you next year.”

“See ya, Sherlock. Take care!” Lestrade called after him, and he ran through the magical door. He began maneuvering through the crowd, trying to get to the entrance in a hope to catch John before he left. He panicked when he ran out of the building, Archer cooing angrily in his cage behind him, and still hadn’t seen John. However, just then, he saw John and a lady that he recognized from having gone to John’s, walking towards the distant cars. Just as the black car slid up in front of him, he left his trunk and sprinted towards him, yelling his name. John turned, and Sherlock felt a small burst of satisfaction when his face lit up with happiness. “

Hello, Mrs. Watson!”

“Sherlock, hello!”

Then, without thinking and just going with his instincts, he jumped at John and hugged him tightly. It felt like John took a few seconds to react, and then he felt the other boy’s arms hold onto him tightly.

They pulled apart, and Sherlock asked, rather self-consciously, “We’ll see each other this summer, yeah?”

He then turned around at the station and noticed Mycroft striding towards them. “Of course, why wouldn’t we?” John answered, and Sherlock had to suppress a smile when John waved at Mycroft, who was obviously in a bad mood.

“I’ll write to you.” Sherlock said, and he then turned around and ran towards Mycroft.

"You ran off without even thinking what could happen to your trunk, Sherlock.” He said as a way of greeting, his patience already very thin.

“Yeah, yeah, but the car was there and I needed to say good bye to John.” Mycroft rolled his eyes and turned towards the car, Sherlock trying desperately to keep up with the longer legs of his older brother. He already missed John, and he felt that he needed to rectify all the time they had lost that year the next year. He looked back at his friend, who was watching him leave. He saw Mrs. Watson gesture to John that they needed to leave, and Sherlock only looked away when John had ducked into the car. That night, the flat was silent except for Mycroft’s exceptionally loud snores. Sherlock lay in his bed, quietly plucking at the violin strings in his lap and feeling a bit lonely. He glanced up at Archer, who was perching at the top of the shelf in the corner and watching him. Archer turned his head on the side and cooed softly at Sherlock, and Sherlock smiled a little for only a second. He lay back in his bed, and having not realized how exhausted he was, Sherlock fell asleep right away into a dreamless rest, not waking up until late the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm experiencing a minor writer's block for the next chapter, so once again it may take a bit longer for it to be published. Woop ti doooo!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes are, of course, my own. Hurray for being human and making mistakes!!

_John, I’m bored. There isn’t much you can do without getting bothered by adults around here when you’re 13 years old._

_~SH_

~~~~~~~~~~~

_I wish I could help, but sadly I’m stuck here at my Grandma’s. Maybe once I’m back you could maybe come over?_

_~JW_

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock wanted to slam his hands on the table, but right before they hit the hard wood he caught himself. He sunk his head onto the table and groaned in frustration, to which Mycroft turned his head from reading the newspaper in the armchair facing away from the kitchen.

“2 and a half more weeks, brother mine.”

Sherlock groaned even louder in response, which Mycroft answered the groan with a small smile.

“It’s so TEDIOUS!”

“Then you shouldn’t have gone climbing that tree in Regent’s Park.”

“Shut up.” “You love my voice, don’t deny it, Sherlock.”

“Mycroft, I swear to…”

“Okay, okay.”

Sherlock turned his head and rested his cheek on the cold table, and glared at his right hand. He regretted climbing the tree to try and see a nearby crime scene closer, but he had then fallen rather embarrassingly out of it and landed on his hand. A police officer had run to him, and had forced him to go to St. Bart’s. They had x-rayed his hand and found that it was slightly broken. They had wrapped him up and sent him home with Mycroft, and now he was stuck at the kitchen table, desperately trying to pick up the fork to eat his spaghetti a couple days later. It was hard to write any letters to John, which frustrated him even more than he cared to admit. He pushed the plate away from him and stood up and stomped to his room, slamming the door behind him. Archer had his wings outstretched in surprise, and Sherlock pursed his lips at the sight.

“What am I going to do for the rest of the summer?” He asked quietly into thin air. He sighed and pouted, wrapping his bed robe tighter around himself. He looked over at his desk in the corner of his room, at the yellow parchment with John’s handwriting scrawled all over it. _37 days to go…_

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock could see John standing inside the screen door of his house, waving madly at him. Sherlock was excited to see John again, and couldn’t help but grin genuinely at him when he stepped out of the car.

During his visit, they went swimming at the local pool, much to John’s delight. Sherlock was comfortable in his own skin, but he hadn’t swum a lot in his life and wasn’t sure how well it would go. When he got into the water, however, he found that like riding a bike you never really forget how to swim. For the next little bit, they would alternate between playing soccer in the park, playing magical chess while no one was looking and swimming. John suggested that they climb a tree in the park nearby, but Sherlock was hesitant and instead explained why he didn’t want to do it, and that was that. It amazed Sherlock how simple it was to be around John, because everyone else might pry for an explanation, but not him. John understood when to stop prying, and it made Sherlock more comfortable in being himself.

When it came time to leave, Sherlock honestly didn’t want to go. It was more entertaining with John, but also the silence of the flat back home was starting to really grind on his nerves. He watched John waving as the car pulled away, his heart sinking in his chest. Sherlock sighed, and thought to himself, _9 days until we go to school._

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sherlock! We’re meeting in the usual place, if you would be so kind…” Moriarty told him, brushing his shoulder.

Sherlock had been walking calmly towards the appropriate platform when Moriarty had caught up to him, and Sherlock frowned and nodded. _Maybe I could say hi to John before I go._ As he walked through the train, he realized that Moriarty and him had gotten on after his friends’ normal seats, so he wouldn’t see them before they got to the back of the train. Sherlock just figured that he would greet them later on, and put it out of his mind.

Sherlock, Moriarty, Connor, Rachel and Piper all went through the Forbidden Forest once again, although that annoyed Sherlock more than he enjoyed it. Only Piper’s presence made it less so, and they trekked along in companionable silence. When the group was pretty far ahead of them, Piper finally broke the silence.

“I’m not muggleborn, but I live in Cardiff. I’m around muggles all the time.”

Sherlock turned and stared at her in confusion and replied, “Yes, I know.”

“How?”

“Accent is a specific one from there, and the necklace you’re wearing is made by only one kind of street merchant named Taharna, who has been based in Cardiff for the past 6 months, and the beads look fairly new which means you had to have been in Cardiff sometime over the past 2 months. You don’t look travel worn, which people become when they haven’t been somewhere that they aren’t accustomed to-”

“Uh huh.”

“-Which means you must’ve been at least partially accustomed to Cardiff, statistically living there is more likely. Also, this morning I saw you exchange platforms from Cardiff to the one for Hogwarts.”

“Right, okay.”

Sherlock fell silent. He didn’t look at Piper, who was also staying silent.

“Are you always able to see things like that? See through everyone as easily as you just saw through me?” She ran her hand through her frantic flame red curls, _which she had desperately tried to tamed into a messy braid that morning in a rush._

“Yes.”

“I… I don’t know how to take that.”

“People usually don’t.” 

“What do you mean?”

Sherlock looked at her with his usual look of do-I-really-need-to-explain-this. “People usually don’t appreciate me being able to deduce them.”

She nodded in understanding. “I don’t like the fact that you can pretty much know me just by looking at me and hearing me speak, but it is pretty cool that you can do it. Just, uh, don’t do it to me again.”

“I can’t just turn it off like a light switch in my brain!”

“Well, try.” She spat back forcefully.

Sherlock frowned, feeling slightly ashamed, but not unexpected. John had been the only one to really, truly accept his abilities. Her bright green eyes bore into him from the side, and he just nodded as an answer. He felt his shoulders sloop a little, and fought off the feelings of shame. He had always been this way, and he had always been told in some way, shape or form to stop. Why should he ever stop now?

_Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock._

_No, Mycroft,_ Sherlock thought in response, _it isn’t._

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock sat at the Slytherin table, bored out of his mind. The sorting always took so long, and he was just really tired of it now that he had seen it twice before. Instead, he looked for John at the Hufflepuff table. Sherlock scanned the heads at their table, and he almost didn’t recognize John when he saw him. When he did a double take, he noticed John’s tension and distress hidden under the façade that he was clearly trying to put on. Something had happened in the last 9 days, something that had shook his friend to the very core. Sherlock briefly wondered if it had anything to do with him, but he immediately dismissed the idea. Whatever trauma John had suffered was a sort that he hadn’t seen often in his life, but Sherlock recognized the look on the soft features of his friend. No, John had suffered something that shouldn’t ever be suffered by anyone: he had witnessed someone very close almost die.

The realization shook Sherlock to the heart, and he took in a sharp breath. It had taken him the better part of dinner to figure it out, and his hand clasped tighter around the metal fork in his hand. If Sherlock didn’t know better, he would’ve believed that perhaps he was feeling empathy for John. Maybe that was what Sherlock was feeling, but it was pushed away by sudden flashbacks of all the times he had seen Mummy almost die.

Having lost his appetite, Sherlock opened his eyes once more and looked around. The room was starting to empty of students, and Sherlock noticed that Molly and John were already gone. However, Lestrade was still at the Gryffindor table, and Sherlock jumped up and jogged to where he was. He grabbed Lestrade’s arm forcefully, drawing a complaint from the other boy, but when he saw Sherlock’s face he shut his mouth.

When they were further away from everyone else, Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.

“What happened to John?” He asked fiercely, looming over the other boy.

“I don’t know if I can tell you, Sherlock. It’s only among friends, and only he decides who knows and doesn’t know.”

“Am I not his friend?”

“Well…” Lestrade hesitated, scratching his head. “Yes, you are, but I can’t tell you without his permission. I need to respect him when it comes to something this drastic.”

Sherlock let out a small growl of frustration and annoyance, and whirled around and began striding to the door. If no one was going to tell him, then he was going to go to the source himself.

However, when Sherlock was in the doorway, he stopped to think. He had no idea where John would be at that moment, but then it was as if his thoughts were answered: John was walking towards him, his head bent against the rest of the world. Sherlock began to reach out for John, but the sheer emotion on John’s face made him hesitate. Emotion wasn’t really Sherlock’s strong suit, although he had admitted to himself countless times that yes, he felt things. The only problem is that he had no idea how to deal with the emotion that others exuded. That’s what made him hesitate: the unknown of how to comfort his only friend. Sherlock would rather not deal with emotion, but it made him feel a little ashamed that he didn’t know how to make the effort to help. So John walked past Sherlock, not even noticing him there, and it only left Sherlock feeling very confused on how to go about the whole situation. Sherlock decided to make a retreat to his room, so that he could think and sift through all the information he gathered that day.

But he really wanted to know how he could help John.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock couldn’t sleep. It was becoming a common reoccurrence, and he was starting to learn how to roam the halls without any of the ghosts or teachers knowing. Walking around helped him to think, and right now he was trying to sift through his emotions and try to ignore them as best he could. In his pocket he held a letter, where Mycroft had written that Mummy had grown a bit worse than usual. Sherlock knew that he had to somehow be used to this, but the worry always gnawed at him, eating away at his concentration and not allowing him to focus on what was in front of him. These nightly strolls helped, in a way.

Suddenly he heard the familiar _woosh_ of one of the many ghosts that flew around at that time of night, and he cursed silently to himself. He began running, keeping his steps from slapping down too hard on the stone floor in an effort to keep his noise to a minimal, but it really didn’t help that the path echoed. It was way past curfew and lights-out, and he really didn’t feel like having another detention. He rushed around the corner, about to breathe a sigh of relief at having hopefully escaped whichever ghost when-

_CLUNK!_

Lights danced in front of Sherlock’s vision as he hit the floor hard, his breath knocked easily out of him. He regained his bearings rather quickly, and looked at whatever had knocked into him and immediately recognized John. John’s face was all scrunched up in pain, his mouth opened in a circle in the middle of groaning, and he was holding his head. Sherlock sat up and got closer, and began to prod his friend’s head, looking for any injuries.

“John! Are you alright?” He asked, keeping his voice calm and steady but louder than he probably should’ve let it been. John groaned and covered his eyes with his hand. “Do you need to go to the hospital ward?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ve had worse, I’ll just probably have a bruise or something.”

John sat up and Sherlock was forced to sit back, pulling his fingers away. John opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock. His face slackened, and Sherlock briefly wondered why until he noticed that he wasn’t really keeping his own emotion off his face.

“I’m fine, really. Don’t worry.” At that, Sherlock stood up and reached out his hand, which John took while nodding his gratefulness.

“So where were you off-“

“Why are you out of-“

They spoke at the same time, and when they both stopped and didn’t continue, Sherlock raised an eyebrow in amusement.

Suddenly from down the hall came the sound of fast-approaching footsteps, and they shared a look of horror as they remembered that it was past curfew. Simultaneously they ran to the other side of the hallway and hid behind a large stone column that lined one of the many alcoves that had a large window out-looking the main courtyard. Sherlock stood in front of John, effectively hiding the shorter boy just in case whatever professor was walking towards them saw him. Sherlock chanced a glance around the pillar, and saw Professor Flitwick walking towards them, examining a textbook that he held before him and thankfully not looking up. He ducked back behind the pillar, and looking back at John’s moonlit face and mouthed,

“Professor Flitwick.”

John nodded and seemed to be holding his breath, and Sherlock found himself doing the same. Once the footsteps had faded away, Sherlock straightened up and heard a sigh of relief behind him. He looked back at John and grinned, seeing John grinning back. Sherlock walked out from behind the pillar and looked around. He calculated that unless if any of the ghosts and the teachers were where they shouldn’t be at that time of night like Professor Flitwick, they were in the clear. He turned his head back at John, and gestured for him to follow, and walked off. He smiled slightly when he heard soft footsteps rushing to keep up with him. They walked through the corridors, and after a while John spoke up.

“We’re close to the Hufflepuff Common Room, Sherlock.” He whispered.

“Yes, I know. I’m aware of where all the Common Rooms are and how to get in.”

“Okay, I’m going to have to ask you another time why and how you even know that.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and answered, “It’s quite obvious, John. All you need to do is observe.”

“M’kay,” He said sarcastically, “I’ll make sure to observe, at your wishes.”

At that, Sherlock couldn’t help but roll his eyes once more, and at that moment he stopped walking. Right next to him was the hidden doorway to the Hufflepuff Common Room.

“Kitrinos.”The door swung open, and Sherlock beckoned to the warm cozy atmosphere inside. “Talk to you later.”

He turned, and without a backwards glance Sherlock walked away towards the Slytherin Common Room. Once he heard the hidden door close shut, he paused in his stride. Sherlock deliberated for a few seconds, then came to a decision: he wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight. Sherlock took the corridor that was to his left, and made his way through the castle and up into the Astronomy tower, which had finished their class hours ago. When he felt the cool night air blowing through his curls, he smiled slightly and turned his face into it. He stayed like that for only god knows how long, until the rays of the sun began to peek their way from above the horizon and making it glow a soft light yellow. Sherlock chuckled (in his opinion, rather pointlessly) at the colour, and whispered,

“Kitrinos.”

_The Greek word for yellow._


	7. Chapter 7

As the trees outside turned bright with colour and then morphed into a sea of brown barren branches, the school year habits of the students fell into place. Sherlock had wanted to spend more time with John this year, and he was finally going by his word. John’s company wasn’t as annoying as most of the other students, and was sometimes downright enjoyable. They spent a lot of their time (much more than either of them preferred) doing homework in the library or one of the many study halls. Some days Sherlock wasn’t able to get anything done because John was being horribly distracting, although it wasn’t unwelcome. Enchanting scrunched up balls of ruined parchment paper to fly around and hit some of their classmates made them laugh. Thankfully, every student that they did it to was good-hearted and didn’t tell them off for doing so.

On the first snowfall, Sherlock got irritated at the amount of excitement in the school. _It’s just snow, it’s not as if any of us haven’t seen some before._ He was walking along the corridor close to the entry of the main courtyard and near the Great Hall when snow came flying through the doors as they opened. John, Molly and Lestrade tumbled through, stumbling over their feet but staying miraculously upright. Lestrade was doubled over laughing, Molly was covering her face with a mitten-covered hand, and John was yelling about something having to do with Professor Sinatra. They didn’t notice as Sherlock passed by, and by a whim he reached out and brushed the snow off of John’s white snow-filled hair. As John looked up at Sherlock, his smile widened. Sherlock smirked at the sight of his friends, and kept on walking. Suddenly, a big wet bunch of cold hit him square in the back of the head. He whirled around and saw John fleeing, laughing mischievously. Sherlock tried to conjure up feelings of annoyance, but he was just amused.

Later on, when it was just after dinner, Sherlock rushed outside and grabbed a fistful of snow. He went back in, ran to the Hufflepuff Common Room where he had just seen John go in, yelled out the password, saw his target, and threw. It caught John in the ear, and he started spluttering in surprise. When he saw Sherlock, doubled over in laughter similarly to how Lestrade had been a few hours before, he stood up and began to run towards him. Sherlock, seeing John, straightened up and began sprinting down the hall. When he looked back, he saw that John hadn’t pursued him very far and he had sighed in relief. _I probably just started an all-out war, didn’t I?_

~~~~~~~~~~~

About a month later, Sherlock found himself in John’s company at John’s Grandmother’s house in Cardiff. The whole house smelled of cinnamon and cooked turkey, and people slipped in and out of the rooms conversing with each other. It was very different from all the Christmases that Sherlock had spent, stuck in the company of Mycroft or, even worse, Aunt Bella’s. _Thank god I escaped Aunt Bella’s._ Sherlock had to suppress a shiver at the thought of going again, because this time his cousins had also been going to be there, but he had gotten out of it. He could just barely tolerate his cousin Melanie, but William he just couldn’t stand. William took to his mother in his air of superiority, and as always, Sherlock was the target. This time, though, it was much easier to just relax partially.

They were playing Magic Chess in the living room, careful to not mutter out any instructions when his family was around. Most of the family was unaware of John’s magical abilities, which was sometimes very vexing when it came to talking about anything school-related.

“I’m thinking of joining the Quidditch team next year.” John informed him quietly.

Sherlock’s furrowed his eyebrows in thought, and then answered, “Really? May I ask why before I point out how stupid your decision is?” _He’s already pretty much struggling with his classes, how could that ever be a good idea?_

John rolled his eyes and blushed, his lower lip jutting out indignantly. “Because it seems like such fun to play, and I feel like I’m doing so well in my classes that I can afford to play. It isn’t as if the-“ He lowered his voice even more as his Uncle Rupert walked by, “-O.W.L.s are next year, and anyway, I wanna fly around like in the movies. It seems like a dream, sometimes, to live in a place where we can do magical things.”

Sherlock had to agree with that. The prospect of magic existed still baffled him sometimes, just by how impossible it had seemed before.

“Still seems stupid. I’m going to have to help you even more with my classes, aren’t I? Or maybe you could ask Irene.”

John shot a shocked glance at Sherlock before commanding one of his pawns to move. “I haven’t talked to her much over the years. I’ve barely gotten any classes with the Ravenclaws, let alone with her in it. Anyways, why would a Ravenclaw help a Hufflepuff like me? Our houses don’t exactly get along.”

 _And yet here we are, John_.

“Well, I’m in Slytherin, aren’t I? Hufflepuffs and Slytherins are usually kept apart, and yet for our generation they seem to be doing something different. Look at us now: playing Magic Chess as if we weren’t part of two extremely different houses that value completely different things.”

John sighed, staring at the chessboard in front of him. Sherlock only had to glance down and see all the possibilities that John had to play. Suddenly, John grinned widely and commanded his Queen to move and announced Checkmate. _What? What did I miss?!_ Sherlock felt a small flare of panic in his chest as he looked down once more, trying to find whatever loophole John had found. Just then, John’s Queen turned around and shook her finger comically at him. Sherlock glanced up at John and could help but succumb to ferocious giggles at the sight: John was in the middle of celebrating, his arms up high in the air. His face, though, was what really made Sherlock laugh. John’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, his mouth slightly opened in the middle of saying a silent, “What?”. As Sherlock watched, John tipped his head to the side to keep staring at the board.

Once Sherlock finally quieted down to a chuckle, he ordered his Bishop to another square and announced smugly, “Checkmate. Sorry, you almost got me but not quite.”

“Bloody hell, Sherlock!”

That sends Sherlock into another round of hard laughter, and he barely heard Mrs. Watson call out to them to not swear. John sat in his seat, annoyed but trying to hide a smile, until Sherlock finally calmed himself down once more.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.” Sherlock whispered as they reset the game.

“Eh, I don’t know where I got the habit but it’s very fun when you get used to it.” He paused. “I wonder why I was put into Hufflepuff. The Hat almost put me in Gryffindor, if you didn’t know.”

_It isn’t that hard to guess, John. It’s very obvious._

“Well…” Sherlock thought for a second, “you value bravery, but you are infallibly loyal to those you care about. Maybe that’s what the Hat was looking at.”

“Probably.”

Harry stuck her head out from behind the corner, her long blond hair tied back in a ponytail and big silver hoops dangling freely from her ears. Her eyes had dark shadows under them but she seemed content, even relaxed. The last time Sherlock had seen Harry, she had been full of energy and mischievousness, seeming to not care about anything except for the here and now. That evening, she was quiet, the spirit of mischievousness subdued. It struck Sherlock as odd.

“Dinner’s ready, you two.”

John and Sherlock looked at each other, and jumped up in sync and ran for the food, their stomachs growling. Even if Sherlock didn’t usually eat much, the smell of the Watson family’s food was downright mouth-watering.

The next morning, they began their trip back home to London. They parted when they had gotten to John’s house, where Sherlock’s family black car was waiting to take him back to 221b. Even if he had enjoyed his Christmas more than usual, he just really needed the peace and quiet that was the norm at Baker Street. He could already feel a weight lifting off his shoulders when the comfort of the black seats in the car cushioned him, the fact that he was finally away from people giving him relief. It was the curse of the introverts: they can only function if they’re away from people for a while.

After the sun had gone down, Sherlock sat comfortably in his armchair in the flat, a fire roaring beside him and warming his cold fingers after having been outside. He lay back his head and sighed, closing his eyes and letting his thoughts whirl around undeterred. The door downstairs opened and closed, and Mycroft’s familiar walk resounded and echoed up to Sherlock’s ears as he walked up the stairs.

“Ah, that’s why the car was a few minutes late.”

Sherlock opened one eye and peered at his brother. Now 20 years old, Mycroft loomed over Sherlock in height, but Sherlock was absolutely convinced that he would one day grow to be as tall, although he would never admit it. Mycroft took off his coat and put his umbrella on the hook on the wall, and settled into the other armchair.

“I trust you had a safe trip?”

“Mhmm.”

Mycroft only raised an answering eyebrow and took the newspaper that was on the side table. He flipped it open and began reading, and Sherlock saw that they were content just to sit together in silence. An hour past, and the only movement that came was from the rustling of newspaper and Sherlock shifting around in his armchair as he thought. After a while, he put his hands together under his chin, rubbing the tips of his fingers up and down his chin.

“Oh!” Sherlock said suddenly, springing to his feet. Mycroft glanced over the top of the newspaper then back. Sherlock strode to his room and plopped down at his desk, pulling a piece of parchment closer and grabbing the quill he used for writing the letters.

_What happened to Harry over the summer? She seems so subdued all the time, and the first week of school you seemed so disturbed all the time._

He left it at that, and called Archer down from his perch. He tied the letter to Archer’s foot, opened his window and sent him off, telling him where to go.

An hour and a half later, Archer pecked at Sherlock’s window. He pushed it open and reached for Archer’s leg to gently untie the new parchment on it. He unraveled it and read quickly, absorbing the new information. The letter was long, words lining the page from edge to edge and taking up the whole of it. The very last line read,

_Sorry, I thought I had told you. I don’t particularly like to think about it._

Sherlock sat back on his bed and stayed there for a while, unaware of the time passing until it was the little hours of the morning. Mycroft had gone upstairs to bed a long time ago. When he was finally released from his reverie, Sherlock got up once more to sit at his desk, feeling the smooth wood underneath his arm as he pulled a new piece of parchment towards him. On the fine paper, he wrote,

_I had an idea that that would be why, but I failed to understand your emotional side of the story. If I had known how deeply it was affecting you, I wouldn’t have stayed away from you. I should’ve been a better friend._

He stared at the dark ink on the page, a bit surprised by what he had written. It seemed that since his body was so used to having at least a few hours of sleep every night, it wasn’t dealing so well with not having had any at all. The fact that Sherlock hadn’t been able to sleep whatsoever the night before couldn’t have helped either. He could perhaps empathize with what John was going through, but everyone felt emotions differently even if they were based on the same few chemicals. It made it a bit harder to try and understand because John had the biggest heart of any person he had ever met.

_Okay, that’s enough sentiment for one night._

Sherlock undressed and tucked himself under the covers, turning over and curling up into the ball that he always sleeps in. Sleep found him much more quickly than he was expecting.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, Sherlock, how are your classes? Not causing too much trouble, are we?” Mummy said, a twinkle in her eye as she teased him. 

“My classes are much more interesting this year than last year, although that isn’t much of a surprise.”

She pressed the button to make the bed lift her up until she could see him better. “What are you learning?”

“In Defense Against the Dark Arts, we’re learning how to fight against one of the most terrifying creatures in the magical world.” Sherlock snorted. “At least, that’s what they say. It’s called a boggart. It changes into our deepest and darkest fear, and the only way to defeat it is if we say this certain spell and it turns that fear into something completely ridiculous.” “Oh, so how did you do with that?”

“Better than the others, that’s for sure.”

She regarded him for a second and whispered, “You need to remember that you’re as human as they are, Sherlock. Everyone makes mistakes and most people don’t have the knack at learning things as well as you and Mycroft do. You need to be patient with them, sometimes.”

“But they’re idiots! The whole lot of them!”

She pursed her lips. “I’m sure not all of them are complete idiots. Give them a chance.” She chided.

“There are… some… that I kind of do enjoy their company.”

“Like John?”

He glanced up at her in surprise. Even if it was halfway through his third year at Hogwarts, he didn’t remember when he had ever mentioned John to her.

“Yeah, like John.”

She smiled and said softly, “At least now you have a friend. After Victor, like, I’d thought since you were already a child that didn’t make friends easily, I thought you wouldn’t become friends as close as you did with Victor again… And here you are.”

Sherlock didn’t answer, and they sat in the silence that followed. The next day, Sherlock would be going back to Hogwarts and wouldn’t be seeing her again until March Break. It had become a bit easier to leave Mummy behind for such long periods of time, but he still missed her deeply at times.

That evening, when it was time for Sherlock to go back to Baker Street, Sherlock held his coat in his hands as he bent down and kissed her forehead. She smiled up at him weakly, tired from the day spent talking to him.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Mummy. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Oh, I know you will Sherlock. Do well at school, alright?”

“Alright.”

“I love you.” “I love you too, Mummy.”

Sherlock walked out, shrugging his coat on as he strode towards the elevators. When the cold night air struck him in the face, making his dark curls float around, he looked up at the barely visible stars of the clear sky and sighed. _Back home I go._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw man, I made myself cry. This took way too long to write and I know, I'm sorry, I just have a lot of projects going on right now and hopefully this could tide you all over to the next chapter, whenever that gets written.

Sherlock was walking through the corridors on the top floor of the school, ignoring anyone and anything that passed him by. He was deep in thought, thinking about Mummy and all the classes, and of course of his newest experiment which involved milk and an odd looking potion he had nicked from the cupboard in the Potions class. He happened to look out of one of the windows, and in the furthest corner of the massive yard he saw 4 figures entering the forest. He remembered that after the conversation with Piper, Moriarty had stopped asking him to go with them. Sherlock hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in worry over what John had been going through, and it really had just slipped his mind.

_Very uncharacteristic of my mind…_

He pursed his lips, which Mycroft had once pointed out had made him look even more like Mummy, and decided to just ignore it. He felt that it was good that Moriarty and him didn’t talk anymore. He respected Moriarty’s intelligence and the things he is capable of doing, but Sherlock’s moral clock deep in his head told him that what Moriarty could one day end up doing might be something that Sherlock wouldn’t want to do. Best not to associate too much with Moriarty.

He had realized long ago that the face he showed to everyone else was one that could be viewed as sociopathic, but he could at least admit to himself that he did feel emotions as strongly as everyone else. It was maybe just a bit more annoying if they assumed he was a psychopath, like they had at one of the schools he had gone to when he was 8. _Completely incompetent, I can’t believe they even got the job._ Mummy had had him taken out of the school a week later, after she had gotten the news at the hospital.

A bell tolled in the distance, and Sherlock turned his head in its direction. He lent a very small part of his concentration to letting his legs take the path through the castle to the Great Hall for lunch, but he stayed deep in thought over the memories of days gone by.

~~~~~~~~~~~

_Ah, there she is._

Sherlock strode towards Molly, who was talking to one of the younger Hufflepuffs on a bench near the wall. He went up to her and cleared his throat, glaring at the kid beside her. The little boy ran off, leaving the two alone. Molly was trying to glare back at Sherlock, but was failing miserably.

“So… Molly.”

“Yeah, what would you- no, I mean, do you- no-“

“I need ingredients from Professor Sprout’s office, but I’m not in her good graces.”

“Ah.”

_Turn on the smile._

Sherlock tried to smile as convincingly as he could, charming Molly into getting him what he wanted. “Would it be okay if… You could get me some?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s allowed, Sherlock.” She smoothed her hair back behind her ear in nervousness, fidgeting in her seat.

“Please, Molly? For me?” He asked in his sweetest voice.

She sighed, and muttered, “Oh, alright.” And stood up. “What do you need?”

A few hours later, Sherlock stood on one of the furthest bridges from the main courtyard, waiting impatiently for Molly. As she bounded around the corner with her bag, he heaved a sigh of relief to finally get the ingredients.

“Here they are.”

“Hmm, good, they’re a-“

Suddenly Molly froze, her eyes wide and panicked as she took on a bluish hue and fell over. Sherlock stooped down immediately to examine her, when a voice came from above him.

“Hello, Sherlock. Seems you have very obedient friends… I can’t commend your choice, though.”

“Moriarty, what the hell-“

“Tsk tsk, Sherlock. You should come play with those who are worth your time.”

Moriarty smiled wickedly and walked away, whistling a song that Sherlock didn’t recognize. He looked back down at Molly, and took out his wand and said the spell that would release her from her enchantment.

“Oh, gosh. My head, that hurts…”

“Hold still, you just banged it a little.”

“What did Moriarty want?”

Sherlock glanced up at the retreating figure, and answered, “I don’t think he took too kindly to me being around all of you. He wants me to stay with him and help him in his plans.”

“But you don’t want to, do you?”

He met her eyes and murmured, “No, I don’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s very unlike you to come home for March Break, Sherlock. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but still.”

“I know Mummy. I just felt like I needed to be here.”

Sherlock set his coat down on one of the chairs in the hospital room and then jumped up to sit on the window ledge. She peered up at him, her eyes squinting a little at the light coming in through the glass. Sherlock realized this and immediately jumped down, running to the other side of the bed and grabbing a chair to sit on a more comfortable angle for her. She smiled, the wrinkles on her face fading and revealing the face of a person that couldn’t have been older than her mid-thirties.

“What really made you feel like you needed to see me?”

Sherlock frowned in thought, going back to the moment where he had made his decision to come home. “I… Don’t really know. Its just events were happening and I needed to come home for a while.”

Violet nodded in understanding, then whispered, “John is still talking to you, is he?”

“Yes, yes, of course. There’s this other boy, though. He seems to be out to make my life harder, and when he saw that it had no effect on me he started targeting my friends.”

“Oh, that’s terrible. Have you tried talking to one of your professors?”

“He would thrive in detention, Mummy, he’s just one of those kinds of people that you can’t control unless if drastic measures are taken.”

They fell silent, and on a whim Sherlock reached out and took his mother’s hand in his. The whole afternoon, they spent it in companionable lengths of silence and stories of their experiences. Sherlock told her about his classes and everything that he had been doing, while she told him of her experiences when she was younger. When the sun had long since gone down, Mycroft came by to tell Sherlock that they had to leave. As Sherlock tugged on his coat and wrapped his blue scarf around his neck, thankful for the soft familiar feel of the cloth that was so different from the Slytherin scarf, he paused before leaving. He turned back to gaze at his mother, and she smiled encouragingly at him. Suddenly, he ran and gave her a hug, catching her by surprise.

“Sherlock, I’m sure everything will turn out all right. You have great friends from what I hear, trust them, okay?”

Sherlock smiled down at her, smoothing back her hair from her face. “I will, Mummy.”

Sherlock turned to walk about, but right before he stepped out of the door, he looked back and said,

“I love you, Mummy.”

“I love you too, Sherlock. Take care of yourself.”

When they were out of the hospital, Sherlock looked up at the cloudy night sky.

“Come along, brother mine.” Mycroft said, holding the door open for him.

Sherlock nodded and resumed walking, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling of grief that had taken hold of him after he had stepped out of Mummy’s room.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was just beginning to find the lack of any precipitation outside to be out of the ordinary when one early spring day it finally rained, making the snow melt very quickly and leaving behind puddles scattered across the field. The sunny days afterward helped to dry everything out except for the biggest of puddles, and it was on such a landscape that Sherlock and John were walking slowly on, although animatingly.

“How the hell can you even tell that my Great-Aunt had twins? They weren’t even mentioned at Christmas, and I know that because my Great-Aunt and my Grandmother had a row and never spoke again, and as a rule we never speak about them. Let alone the twins!”

John threw his hands up in the air in utter disbelief, angry, but Sherlock didn’t really understand why he seemed so surprised.

“Well, I observed that there was a particular picture frame containing an old picture, one of your Grandmother. She wasn’t alone originally in the picture: half of it had been cut out, and a bit of a dress showed through at the bottom. I would’ve guessed Great Grandmother, but your Grandma talked about her mother fondly and endlessly at dinner on Christmas Eve, so sister is more likely, therefore Great-Aunt. Then your mother and Mrs. Freeman were talking about twins and triplets that same night, and your mother remarked on how she’s surprised she didn’t give birth to twins due to the fact that there’s a history of twins in her family. So putting that together, I guess that you had a Great-Aunt with twins.” Sherlock babbled out, barely taking a breath. He shrugged once he was done. He hadn’t looked at John throughout his explanation, but when he finally took a glance at his face his heart sank slightly.

“You know, I really do wonder what it’s like to have a super brain like yours. How do you even put up with us mere mortals?”

Those words felt like a slap in the face. Granted, Sherlock believed that most, if not all, of the students were idiots, and it was sometimes a bother to put up with them. Some, though, like Mummy had pointed out, were different. John was different.

Suddenly an incorrigible shout came from behind them and John was plucked right off his feet by an invisible force and thrown roughly into a nearby tree. Sherlock whirled around and saw Moriarty cackling madly. Without thinking about the consequences, Sherlock raised his wand and shouted the first charm that came to mind at Moriarty, who turned and ran away like the coward he could be at times.

“Sherlock! Help!”

Sherlock refocused back on John and shouted back, “I’m right here, just give me a moment! Levicorpus… Liberacorpus.”

His spells picked John up from where he was hanging in the tree and deposited him on the ground below. John collapsed as his feet touched the ground, getting his cloak all wet, and Sherlock ran to him and grabbed him beneath the arms and pulled. Sherlock stepped back in surprise when John brushed off his hand.

“Well, I guess I must thank you. I’m sure this hasn’t brought down your opinion of Moriarty, now has it?”

_On the contrary, John…_

“We haven’t spoken since second year, John.” _Spoken in fairly neutral terms since second year, with the exception of the beginning of the year on the train._ “I realized how bad of an influence he was on me and I decided to stay away from him. Unfortunately, he tends to take out his anger at being ignored on the people I usually hang around. Namely, you and Molly the other day.”

John’s eyebrows furrowed and he slowly turned his head to peer up at Sherlock. “Molly? I didn’t know you were around her when I wasn’t there.”

Sherlock nodded towards the school to indicate that they start going back, and they start walking as he spoke. “I needed some herbs for an experiment I’m conducting from Professor Sprout but I had already gotten my share, so I asked Molly to go get some for me. She usually does what I want her to, anyway.”

“Well, she does seem to have a crush on you…” John paused, getting a thoughtful expression on his face. “You haven’t had any interest of the sort, haven’t you? I don’t even remember a time where you looked at a girl.”

Sherlock’s thoughts froze. He blinked once, then twice. Then his brain seemed to turn back on and came up with an excuse. “No, no one interests me. I’d rather my books and my experiments over the boring company of some of this lot.” To make his point clearer, he waved out at the other students in the courtyard that they were approaching. John hadn’t noticed his pause.

“Fair enough. I, however, like this girl named Jeannette. She’s a Gryffindor, wonderful girl, black hair and brown eyes.” The faint blush that spread across his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock, but he deduced that it wasn’t because he was talking about a girl at all.

_That’s… Different._

Giving John a side-glance and a small smile, he revealed, “I know who she is. She wants to be a Muggle Studies teacher, and yet she isn’t even born out there where we come from.”

“Oh, don’t be so judgmental. Some of the people here aren’t muggleborn and yet have a good amount of knowledge on the muggle world.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as they entered the crowd of milling students, and he glanced at the back of John’s head. Sherlock squared his jaw as felt a surge of protectiveness towards the blond haired kid he had somehow befriended 3 years before.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock stopped walking right when he was right behind John, who stood talking to Lestrade in the hallway. When John made a sudden movement, he accidentally hit Sherlock softly in the stomach and surprised himself.

“Oh, sorry, Sherlock!” Sherlock stayed silent, trying to keep from laughing. “What, Sherlock?”

“Oh, nothing, just… I told you so.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and John groaned quietly and closed his eyes in defeat. “Fine, fine, you were right. You told me so.”

“You’ll be much happier without her, John, you know that.”

John sighed, nodding in agreement. Sherlock nodded once and turned to walk away, gratified with being right about John and his now ex-girlfriend Jeannette. He chuckled and walked out into the main courtyard, ignoring the rain that was soaking through his hair and his cloak. He walked until he had found the owlery, and took shelter in the solitude of the open doorway, away from all the activity from the school.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock watched John as he waved good-bye to Molly and Lestrade on the platform 9 and ¾ of King’s Cross. Once they had said their final farewells, Sherlock strode beside John as they made their way through the station to the outside world beyond.

“Back to normality we go.” John murmured to himself, which Sherlock acknowledged with a glance as they stepped out into the summer air. They walked to the edge of the curb, and John gestured to his mother’s car in the distance. “So, I’ll see you this summer, okay?”

Sherlock nodded, a bit surprised by the slight uncertainty in John’s voice. “I’m sure we will hang out often. Mycroft has a new job with the government and he won’t be there very often, so I’m sure he’ll allow me to see you.”

John perked up at those words, and answered while grinning, “Good. See you then!”

Sherlock watched him go off, and right as John reached his car Sherlock’s ride slid to a purring stop in front of him. He walked behind the car and popped the trunk, pushing his baggage into the space. When he had settled back on the expensive leather of the seat, he bit back a sigh as they drove away. He wouldn’t admit it, but he would really, dearly miss Hogwarts. It had become a haven of learning, a place where his mind was kept busy more often than not, unlike 221b Baker Street. He placed his fist on his mouth, pondering over the acknowledgement of the sentiment he felt towards the far away castle. Sherlock felt calm and content in the life he had there, and he was reluctant to leave it for 2 months, but he needed to come home for Mummy.

Mummy was his rock, the gateway to his core. When his mind was whirling, uncontrolled and dangerous and ravenous and utterly terrifying to himself, her voice could silence it all for a few moments. He knew Mummy was sick, and had no chance of growing better in the coming years, so he understood that his time with her was limited. If anyone had any choice in the matter, she would be at home and healthy, but not at Baker Street. They would be back in the house they had had, when Father was still around. Their lives would be better.

Sherlock shook his head to try and dispel the train of thought that he had been focusing on. Sentiment was not an advantage and shouldn’t be dwelled on in such a way, because sentiment clouded opinions and caused empires to fall and lives to be hurt or lost, therefore it had to be stopped.

The car came to a stop out on the street, and Sherlock peered up at the open light in the flat’s window. He stepped out of the car as the driver brought his baggage inside the house, and they nodded at each other in acknowledgement. Sherlock took everything upstairs, and when he came out of his room to go make himself a cup of tea Mycroft was standing in the window, peering down at the empty street below.

“Welcome home, Sherlock.”

“Uh, hello…” Sherlock paused in his preparation to gaze at his brother. The set of his shoulders was different, in a way that Sherlock would describe as upset if it had been anyone else. Mycroft’s shirt was rumpled and worn, and looked to be have been worn for at least 3 days. It was such a startling difference between what Sherlock normally saw of Mycroft that he stopped what he had been doing and walked towards him tentatively.

“You may want to sit down, I have some news that you won’t like.”

Sherlock frowned in confusion, but the tone of Mycroft’s voice was so raw that he did as he had been asked without a second thought. He sat down in his armchair, and Mycroft finally turned to look at him. Mycroft took a deep breath to steel himself for whatever he was going to say.

“Mummy…” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat to continue. “Mummy suffered complications and suffered cardiac arrest. Her heart was just too weak from all the medication that it just couldn’t take it anymore.”

Sherlock stared at his brother, his lips slightly parted in shock.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. She’s gone.”

“No, no, no, no.”

“SHERLOCK!” Mycroft bellowed, his composure cracking and falling away in tatters. Sherlock sat back in surprise, his hands having risen slightly as if in defense. Mycroft stepped back, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head.

“She… She can’t be gone. She’s a fighter, Mycroft!”

“I’m sor-“

“When.”

“What?” Sherlock growled in frustration at having to repeat himself. “When did she die, Mycroft?”

“Don’t react too suddenly, Sherlock.”

“When!”

“2 weeks after you left.”

Sherlock was shocked into silence. A minute later he whispered, “2 weeks. After I left from March Break.”

Now was Mycroft’s turn to be frustrated. “Yes!”

“And you expected that I would fine with that, with you not telling me?”

“Well…”

“No, stop. I’m going out.”

“No, Sherlock, you need t-“

“I’m going OUT, Mycroft!”

Sherlock bolted down the stairs and out the door, leaving it banging behind him. He turned and blindly ran down the street, knocking into passerby without even noticing. His breaths were hitched, and he felt like he was drowning. He found himself in Regent’s Park, in the same spot where he had run to when he was 11 after they had taken Mummy away by ambulance. A bench was on the side of the path, and he stumbled and fell onto it, surrendering to his emotions. He let the tears fall freely down his face, not caring who saw. He still sat there long past the sun going down, and long past the last pedestrian had walked by. He finally looked up, his face raw and sticky from the salt from his eyes. His chest and his eyes and his head hurt. He wrapped his arms around himself and slumped down, the last memory of Mummy smiling inscribed in his mind’s eye.

_Mummy? Come back._

_Please Mummy._

_Come back._


	9. Chapter 9

The sky above was streaked with the beginnings of the sunrise, the deep blue slightly lighter and the space right above the trees before him lit by the technically extraterrestrial light. Sherlock was still folded in a ball on the bench, clutching the collar of his shirt to keep his legs from slipping. He felt cramped, but he didn’t care. It felt like if he stayed in that position long enough, Mummy would come walking by and touch his hair like she had so often done before in comfort. The first morning stragglers barely even spared a glance at him, which normally would’ve annoyed Sherlock. Today, it only made him feel slightly better that he was left alone by the fact that most people blundering around in the city didn’t observe very well.

“Sherlock? Oh my dear boy, we’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Sherlock lifted his head just enough to peer over his knees at the worried voice, which after a second he recognized as Mrs. Hudson. She ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him to her chest in relief. Sherlock only groaned quietly in response.

“Mycroft and I have been worried sick, Sherlock! We thought you would only be gone for an hour or two, but after 7…”

“I was right here.” Sherlock said, his voice low and raspy from crying. The sheer indifference he heard in his voice sounded a bit alien to his ears, but he couldn’t conjure up the energy to care.

“You need to come home, Sherlock.”

“Why? I don’t want to go back to that flat right now.”

“Whatever it is that Mycroft sa-“

“Did you know Mummy died?”

Mrs. Hudson stilled, then sat back beside him to get a better look at him.

“Yes, I did. I didn’t, I thought… Oh, you’ve been crying, how did I not notice that? Oh, Sherlock…”

She pulled him back into her arms, and Sherlock hid his face in her shoulder and gave a shuddering sigh. It didn’t seem like it had been enough time when Mrs. Hudson let him go and patted his back.

“We need to go back to the flat and talk to Mycroft.”

“I don’t want to go back, I don’t want to go back to him. Please don’t make me go back!” He begged, holding tighter onto his shirt collar.

Mrs. Hudson sighed, then answered, “Would you like to go to John’s?”

“Yes!”

“Alright, we will need to go back but you can stay in my flat while I pack some of your things and call John’s parents, alright?”

Sherlock nodded, and Mrs. Hudson stood up and held out her hand. He shook his head and stood up on his own, keeping his arms around himself. He had a brief thought wondering what he must look like to her, clutching his body like it would break from the emotion coursing through every nerve ending in his body.

An hour and a half later, after Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft had had a row that she had inevitably won, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson sat in a cab with a duffel bag beside them, on their way to John’s neighbourhood. They didn’t speak a word the whole way there, and Sherlock was grateful. As they turned on John’s street, Sherlock could see John sitting on the steps leading up to the front door, his head leaning on his hands with his elbows on his knees. When the cab stopped, he leant over and gave Mrs. Hudson a hug, and as he pulled away she rubbed underneath one of his eyes with her thumb, sighing quietly and murmuring about the redness.

“Oh, your eyes are so red… You don’t deserve this, Sherlock. You and Mycroft are good children, and Violet is… was… an amazing woman. She was proud of you, and loved you dearly.”

Sherlock could only nod, a lump rising in his throat as he opened the door and stepped out into the summer sun, dragging his bag behind him. He stood on the sidewalk and watched the cab drive away, and didn’t hear John walking up to him to stand together. When Sherlock finally turned to regard John, he was suddenly caught in a tight hug, which he couldn’t help but reciprocate.

When they were in John’s room a little while later, Sherlock watched as John took out a small package from the drawers beside his bed and stuck it out towards Sherlock.

“What are they?”

“Jellybeans. You remember the night that we ran into each other in the corridor, after Harry and the accident?”

“Yes.”

“Dumbledore gave me these that night, to make me feel better. I kept them, but now I think you need them more than I ever will.”

Sherlock smiled a little through the lump in his throat, oddly touched and far more emotional than he was comfortable with by John’s thoughtfulness. He gently took them out of John’s hand and opened them, sitting on John’s bed while doing so. Sherlock knew that it was only hormones created by the candy, but he didn’t care. The grief of losing the one person he truly trusted made him feel like he was drowning, trapped in a whirlpool of bitterness and sadness, but this little offering that John made… Sherlock looked up into his friend’s eyes and wondered how this boy had become a symbol of safety. _When_ had he become someone he could trust, _why, how?_

The offering made something click in his head. Sherlock had thought about it before, about how much he trusted John and how it could’ve probably come about. It seemed as though he hadn’t really been looking right at the information he had. It was because no matter what happened between them, they stayed friends. It was why Sherlock found himself in John’s room after having suffered the trauma of officially becoming an orphan: John was the only one that understood him in ways others didn’t, and still cared about him in the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was starting to wonder if he would regret agreeing to go to Lestrade’s for a wizard party as the train began to slow down. Sherlock spotted Lestrade on the train platform, and pointed him out to John, who waved at the figure they both recognized. They stood up before the train had had time to stop, and they walked quickly off to greet their friend, who stood grinning with delight at seeing them. He nodded at Lestrade after John had given him a fist bump, and they ambled off on the road outside the station for 20 minutes before Lestrade told them to go through the trees to their left.

A few feet within the forest a clearing appeared, the trees fading almost instantaneously until the sun shone through undeterred, surprising Sherlock.

“It’s to keep the muggles out. They just see densely packed forest and if they don’t have a wand on them, they just go straight through to the other side.” Lestrade said to John, who was looking around while spinning in comical circles, his eyes wide. Sherlock barely had any time to marvel at the intelligence of such an arrangement when a little girl with blonde pigtails and dark pink overalls ran out of the house towards them.

_Uuuh…_

“Greg! Greg! Greg! Mummy’s making strudel cake! Just like the kind the muggles eat!”

Lestrade looked back at John and Sherlock, but when his eyes had settled on Sherlock, he saw a small glimmer of mischievousness in his eyes. Lestrade crouched down to look at his sister in the eyes and said while trying not to laugh,

“Lucy, this is Sherlock and John, they are muggleborn. If you want to ask them questions, ESPECIALLY Sherlock,”

_OH NO._

John was laughing while Lestrade finished his sentence, “you can ask them.”

For the next 2 days, Sherlock was bombarded ceaselessly with pointless questions such as, “What do muggles learn about in school? How do they go about their lives without Floo powder?” and “What sports do they play if they don’t have Quidditch?” Sherlock could barely tolerate her, but the imagination she had when it came to certain things fascinated him. Her questions only earned her an eye roll, nevertheless. Their first night there, as the stars began twinkling and the sun just about to go completely down, Molly arrived into the midst of the party. She was wearing a yellow sundress with small white flowers splattered all over, and she smiled wide when she saw her friends 3 weeks after school had ended.

At that moment, one of the wizards set off the first of many magical fireworks, where a bright red dragon flew up into the sky roaring and exploded apart in a show of orange and yellow sparks. Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off of them, it being the first time that he had seen fireworks in person. The crowd cheered as each one flew up into the dark cloudless sky, and when a particular one with three centaurs chasing each other burst up, Sherlock looked over at John’s face. His hair was messed up from having had it mussed around by Molly a few minutes before, and his mouth was open slightly as the colours reflected in his eyes. Sherlock suddenly felt a small pang in his heart that he didn’t recognize, and he was left blinking in confusion as he flinched back from a firework that had been set off much closer than the other ones.

That night, instead of the normal nightmares John has about Harry’s accident, John murmured in his sleep about the colours of the fireworks as Sherlock tried to fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock didn’t want to go back to Baker Street, but he didn’t have much of a choice. John and him stood next to the black family car, silent while trying to find a way to say good-bye. John eventually patted Sherlock on the shoulder, and as he slid into the car seat he could feel the skin on his shoulder tingling as if it was the only part of his body being warmed by the sun. As they drove away, Sherlock looked through the back of the car at John until he disappeared from view, and then he sat back down and leant back, closing his eyes.

The street looked the same as it had 3 weeks before, but Sherlock felt a bit reluctant to even step onto the sidewalk. Mrs. Hudson opened the door and she smiled kindly at him, beckoning him inside. Sherlock walked through and set his things down and turned to kiss Mrs. Hudson on the cheek in greeting, but as he pulled away from her he caught sight of Mycroft standing on the stairs watching him, a hand held out holding the banister. They scanned each other, and Sherlock felt the same anger he had felt all those weeks before rekindling in his gut.

“Hello, Sherlock.”

“Mycroft.” Sherlock replied, unable to keep the icy edge out of his voice. Mycroft averted his gaze, clearing his throat to continue.

“If I had known that it would cause this much pain to you…”

_It seems that he is as straightforward as ever, then._

“You would’ve told your little brother that their Mother had died and let him attend her funeral.”

Mycroft didn’t move, but the effort in concealing his emotions was showing in the way his hand clutched the wood and in the set of his mouth.

“I thought it was best for you, that by doing this it wouldn’t take away your attention from school and your life. You’re so happy there that I couldn’t bare the thought of ruining that.”

“Anything would’ve been better than this, Mycroft!”

“I see that now.”

They fell silent, and Mrs. Hudson put her hand on Sherlock’s shoulder to try and calm him. Sherlock hadn’t realized that he was shaking from the tension of his muscles that his anger was causing. He took his duffle bag and stormed up the stairs, pushing Mycroft out of his way. He stomped to his room and slammed the door, throwing his bag to the ground on the other side of the room. Sherlock fell onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, ignoring the presence that he knew would be in the flat beyond. He felt in his pocket the bag of jellybeans, almost finished, and he pulled it out to look at it. The rest of the jellybeans fell into his open palm, and he ate them one by one and tried to relax. When he had finished, he stood up and put the packaging onto his shelf to serve as a reminder that someone out there understood him.

_Unlike Mycroft._

The anger coiled like a snake once more in his gut, and Sherlock’s hands curled into fists unbidden. He began pacing back and forth, trying to regain a sort of control on his emotions and his thoughts. He paced through the whole day and didn’t stop until the next morning, ignoring his hungry stomach and exhausted body. When the morning came around, hours after hearing Mycroft go off to work, Sherlock ventured into the living room and grabbed his violin. He began playing, and stopped noticing time going by, his eyes closed and the peacefulness that the music created helping him to think.

“Sherlock?”

He stopped and opened his eyes, and found that the sun was significantly higher in the sky than it had been when he had begun playing.

“That was beautiful, dear. Sad, though.”

“Why are you here, Mrs. Hudson?”

He finally turned and regarded her, his patience wearing thin. He needed to think, and she was bothering him.

She fidgeted then said, “You need to forgive your brother. He had good intentions in his heart, he just went about it completely wrong.”

“I doubt I’ll be forgiving him anytime soon, now I really need to think.”

She sighed and nodded, going to the kitchen and making the beginnings of tea. He had just put the violin back under his chin when she spoke up again.

“It was John’s birthday while you were there, was it?”

“No, his birthday is towards the end of the summer.”

“Oh. Alright, I will be needing to buy him a gift, then.”

“Why?”

“For being such a good friend to you, Sherlock. He needs to know he’s appreciated for that!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but Mrs. Hudson had a point. He didn’t admit to that, though, but just began to play once more, churning out the same sad melody that had been turning over in his head for days until he was able to play it on the one instrument he had complete control over. He stopped when he saw the black car slide up to the curb, signaling Mycroft’s return, and he put everything back as quickly as he had taken it that morning and ran back to his bedroom, sparing a small thought for the cup of cold tea he had left in the living room before slamming the door. Once he stood leaning heavily on his door, he ran his hands through his hair and pulled, trying to regain his calm. He slid slowly down until he was sitting with his knees against his chest, and leaned his head against his knees and sighed; tired of the emotional onslaught he had gone through in the past month.

_Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock._

_SHUT UP MYCROFT!_

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock had gotten the window seat, which he was secretly pleased about. For once he had gotten there early enough that the corridors were empty as if he were late, and he had found their normal seats and flung down onto the seat to watch the passerby outside. He greeted each of his friends as they came in, Irene choosing to sit next to him and Lestrade on the other side of her as Molly took her place on the bench opposite. Sherlock’s heart rose a little as he saw John, and he didn’t miss the way John’s smile became bigger as he saw that Sherlock seemed relaxed.

_Obviously had been worried, relieved to see that I am “alright”. Am I alright? Not completely. Will I be alright one day? Maybe, maybe not. Balance of probability, yes._

They settled into their pastimes, Molly knitting and John reading one of those ridiculous fantasy novels. Lestrade and Sherlock took up a game of magical chess, and Irene whispered moves into Lestrade’s ear and overall made the game more challenging. At one point, Sherlock decided that he needed to go change, so he relinquished his spot to Irene. He goes and finds his uniform, taking one of the bathrooms. When he is down to his pants, he looked at himself in the mirror, holding onto the sink. He rolled his shoulders, seeing the taut muscle rolling beneath his skin. He had grown much taller over the summer, becoming thinner and his cheekbones more prominent. He watched his chest move with each breath as he pulled on his trousers and as he put on the white uniform shirt, buttoning it up and pulling on the green and silver tie. He took one glance at his cloak and decided against wearing it, bringing it back to his trunk on his way back to his seat.

Sherlock paused in the doorway, taking in the state of his game against Lestrade. He didn’t notice the way Irene was watching him, her face suddenly lit with an interest that was unlike the one she had during the game.

“Why, hello handsome.” She remarked, her eyes going from his head down to his feet and back up again. He felt a bit odd under the sudden change in interest, and he saw from the corner of his eye as John looked up to see what she was talking about.

“Um, okay then. Nothing really new here, Irene.” Sherlock said as he reclaimed his spot. He marveled a little at the difference between the deepness of his voice between that moment and a month before.

She leaned closer and said quietly, “As a matter of fact, I do believe your appearance has changed, Sherlock.” Sherlock couldn’t help but blush, and he cursed his ability at keeping his body and emotions under control.

_How is this going to play out, then?_


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter that took so long to write because I got really uninspired and school work got in the way and just life, man, life is hard.

Sherlock didn’t really expect anything of the sort to happen. The fact that he had tolerated and even grown to like Molly, Lestrade and John went against everything he had expected of himself.

Now, as he watched Irene quietly murmur a spell in the Ravenclaw/Slytherin Transfiguration class, he was met with a feeling that he didn’t recognize but knew he had felt before. He couldn’t for the life of him place the feeling, and it had been bothering him since the class started. As he tore his gaze away from her angular face to concentrate on his spell, his stomach seemed to spark alight and flutter. He decided then and there that after class he would go consult John about it.

An hour later, Sherlock finally located John, who sat cross-legged outside the Hufflepuff Common Room reading the book he had been reading on the train. Sherlock slid down the wall and settled down next to him.

John looked up then back down at the dark lettering on the creamy pages. “Everything okay?”

“No.”

“Oh?”

“I’m experiencing a feeling that I do not recognize.” John stilled, and then raised his gaze to peer at his friend in interest. “And what does it feel like, and when does it happen?”

Sherlock fidgeted, suddenly growing a bit uncomfortable and self-conscious. John nudged him a little to remind him that he was in trusted company.

“When I look at Irene, my stomach goes… Funny.”

“Funny as in hot or funny as in it starts making flips and you feel shy around her?”

“The latter.”

John’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting that answer. Clearing his throat he answered, “Well, that’s, um, interesting. I honestly didn’t see that coming.”

“What does it mean, John?” Sherlock asked urgently, wanting to understand.

“You fancy Irene, Sherlock.” He replied, his mouth curving up slightly at the corners.

“Why is it funny?”

“Oh, it isn’t funny per say, its just very adorable.”

“I am NOT adorable!”

John snorted at that, and Sherlock sat back against the wall and crossed his arms, pouting while huffing in indignation.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Sherlock. It happens to everyone.”

“I’m not like everyone else. People just blunder around in this world not caring about anything remotely interesting, falling prey to sentiment. It’s illogical and exhausting an-“

“Sherlock, you’re a human being, even if sometimes you don’t act like one. It was bound to happen sometime.”

Sherlock huffed and stood up, glaring down at John. John wasn’t moved by it, his smile actually growing wider to be completely visible. Sherlock whirled and stomped off, his thoughts rushing around maddeningly in his head. He found himself a few minutes later under John’s favourite tree in the yard, leaning one hand against the thick rough bark hard enough to leave little indents on his palm.

_Do I really fancy Irene?_

He began kicking the large roots softly, his hands dipping into his pockets. He stared off into the distance and kept absent-mindedly kicking the root, his focus going deeper and deeper.

_Yes, I fancy Irene. How could this have happened? I shouldn’t become involved sentimentally with anyone else after Mummy. It’s too late for the others as they are already my friends, but I barely spoke to her before this year._

_Well, if I fancy her, then there isn’t much I can do. I should explore these feelings further, try and gather more data._

With that thought, Sherlock refocused on the world around him once more, and turned back the way he came.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The crowd was deafening, the cheers of encouragement hitting Sherlock’s ears with a ferocity he had rarely witnessed, let alone witnessed willingly. It was grating on Sherlock’s nerves, but it felt important that he be there. It was his first Quidditch match that he had ever been to, and he was already regretting going, but it was also John’s and Irene’s first match too, and he didn’t want to miss it.

He spent most of the time watching Irene, as she was the one that actually had the most action between her and John. However, Sherlock’s eyes kept slipping back of their own accord to his best friend. An hour passed, and the Ravenclaws were winning 40-0, and Sherlock was just starting to consider it more worth his while to leave and get away from all these people when suddenly he spotted a flash of gold near John.

_John! You see but you do not observe, look around! IT’S RIGHT BEHIND YOU._

Sherlock hadn’t realized that he had risen out of his seat, but now his entire attention was focused on John. A few painful seconds went by and then John’s head snapped around and he made a seemingly wild grab. The flash of gold disappeared within his grasp, and Sherlock felt a knot in his stomach unfurl.

_Odd how this pointless game has gotten me hooked into actually paying attention. No, not the game. John has hooked your attention, Sherlock._

John held up the Snitch for Madam Hooch to see as the crowd went wild, especially the Gryffindors around him. One of them accidentally knocked into Sherlock, almost completely unbalancing Sherlock. He stood back up straight and spat,

“Maybe if you were more careful with what was going on around you, you wouldn’t have been caught with James the other night.”

His eyes opened wide in horror, although no one else around them had heard. Without feeling any remorse, Sherlock wrapped his cloak more around him and went off, pushing through the students to try and get to the exit. Along the way, Lestrade met up with him and together they wove through and down onto the main field. Molly was waiting for them at the bottom, and together they trailed the Hufflepuff House as they rushed John. Some grabbed him and pushed John up above their shoulders so that everyone could see, and John pumped his arm into the air and yelled, “Yes!” as they cheered his name. Once they put him down, many were already going off back to the castle, and eventually their whole group was alone on the playing field. Lestrade and Molly congratulated John, but before it was his turn Sherlock noticed the Ravenclaw team assembled not too far away from where they were. At that moment, Irene looked up and their eyes met.

Sherlock turned back to John, who was watching him with a sort of wistful look. Sherlock patted John on the shoulder, not exactly sure what to do to congratulate him, and without another word he walked to where Irene was standing.

“Wow, Sherlock Holmes on a Quidditch field? I would’ve never thought I’d see the day.” She said in greeting, grinning ear to ear even if they had just lost the match.

“It was an important match.”

“How so?”

“John was playing… and so were you.”

Her face softened, as did her smile at Sherlock’s words.

“Well then, in either case you couldn’t have been too disappointed with the result of the match.”

“True. You played well today, Irene.” _Although I kept looking at John._

“It isn’t very hard.”

“Others before you would beg to differ.”

“True, but they aren’t me, are they.”

Sherlock smiled at that, and answered quietly, “No, they’re most definitely not you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was in his dorm room at his desk with his newest experiment when he heard soft footsteps stopping in front of his door. He glanced up as the door clicked and opened slowly, revealing the least expected figure.

“Irene?”

“Shh, there’s no one in the Common Room so I decided to pop in and have a little chat with you. Not bothering you, am I? Oh, what am I saying, of course I’m not.”

She smiled and strode towards Sherlock, settling down on his bed beside him and grabbing one of his books.

“Well, this one is interesting.”

“Yes, I needed it for a case I had a while back.”

“Case?”

“Surely you noticed that people come to me for help when there’s something missing or wrong.” She pursed her lips and made a small sound of acknowledgement, then replaced the book on the shelf. When she lay back, the light from the open window shone through and lit her angular features, making her light grey eyes seem almost off-white. Her dark brown hair lay straight and unkempt around her shoulders, but it suited her. Sherlock had come to realize that no matter how she looked, it suited her.

“Have you ever… Had anyone?”

Sherlock blinked at that, and before he could reply she saw his face and continued.

“I guess not. Ever been in a relationship before?”

Sherlock shook his head slowly, watching her in confusion as to where this conversation was going. She peered up at him from under her eyelashes, and then focused when she read something in his eyes that he wasn’t entirely sure was what.

“You’re confused… Really and truly confused. I’ve never seen you look that way before.”

“Like what?” He answered, his voice a tad higher in indignation.

“Vulnerable.” 

She whispered. He sighed and tried to school his features into something more passive, but Sherlock found that he couldn’t. He had to look away from Irene, who seemed so sympathetic. John was the only one at Hogwarts that had seen him vulnerable, although on a much deeper level than at that moment. Still, it was something that he wasn’t comfortable with. It was better if everyone thought that he didn’t have any feelings because then people left him alone. Then again, if he seemed like he had no feelings, Moriarty wouldn’t leave him alone. Catch-22.

“Sherlock, it’s okay to feel vulnerable. It’s okay to be scared of something that you’ve never experienced.”

He looked up sharply at that. “And what do you know about being truly vulnerable, huh?”

Irene’s head snapped back, hurt flashing across her features then being quickly extinguished behind a veil of indifference. Somehow, that hurt Sherlock too. He rose and took a few steps away, turning his back to her and running his hands through his curls. He closed his eyes and willed his anger away.

“Sherlock.”

He didn’t, couldn’t, answer. Not without a few more minutes to calm down. He felt Irene put her hand on his shoulder, her delicate fingers splaying across and rubbing ever so slightly in comfort. Like a thread being snapped, his tension fell away, until he could let his arms fall to his sides and turn to face her without meeting her eyes.

“You don’t know everything about me, but I don’t know everything about you. We have time, Sherlock. You’re not alone, and maybe you went through worse than I have. I don’t know that, but I think I will at some point. You just need to trust me.”

Finally, Sherlock lifted his face so that his eyes could meet hers. What he saw there wasn’t something that he could explain, and that unnerved him greatly. The only thing that he understood was that in that moment he felt like he was falling through open air and his stomach was in knots. Even through the discomfort, and everything he had never felt before, and the adrenaline from the argument and all his emotions running wild without reign like they have ever since Mummy died, some kind of peace washed over him. It was why, somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to lower his face so that he could press his lips lightly against Irene’s, and to close his eyes against it all.


End file.
